Trapped in Amber
by happylittlebumblebee
Summary: Since his mother's death 4 years ago, Kurt and his father have become strangers living in the same house. This arrangement is just fine with Kurt, who gave up caring much about anything years ago. Fine, that is, until one day an overly-enthusiastic transfer student from some private school is asking him directions, and his father brings home the mother of his once-tormentor.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Kurt flung out an arm onto the surrounding grass in frustration, lamenting (not for the first time) the fact that smoking was such an outdoorsy activity. He squinted angrily up at the sun and shoved his sunglasses further up his nose, fruitlessly willing the cloud to shift just a tiny bit to the right so it would offer him a glimmer of relief from the blazing heat.

He had been enjoying an unscheduled (and not entirely permitted) break on the grassy slope next to the bleachers, idly sucking on a cigarette whilst considering which colours to streak his hair with next. (Maybe green? Green was suitably unexpected and different.) He was enjoying it, that was, before the sun had decided to make an appearance. The sun made everything seem harder. So much more energy was required in the heat. Sunglasses had to be dug out. Black skinny jeans became slightly uncomfortable. Doc Martens began to rub. His beanie began to scratch irritably at the back of his neck. Not to mention the light that reflected off his various piercings, nearly blinding him in the reflection from his phone.

It was, all things considered, an absolute nightmare.

A high-pitched shriek sounded from down on the football field. Kurt groaned. Apparently the appearance of the sun also meant that the Cheerios had their practice out on the pitch instead of in the gym. Fucking great.

He propped himself up on one elbow and glared disdainfully down as they made their way out onto the track and started their warm-ups. He slowly dragged on the cigarette between his lips, watching now with amusement as the swarm of perky red and white uniforms arranged themselves in a variety of completely unimaginative shapes with varying levels of success.

And then, as if the universe was conspiring against him (Would he ever be able to have a fucking cigarette in peace?) the tinny speakers above him crackled into life, spouting out some pop-py, Top 40 fucking crime of a song . He flopped back down onto the grass with a deep sigh, feeling around with one hand for his bag. He finally grabbed it and pulled it closer to his side. Flipping open the messenger flap, he tucked safely away the corner of a silk scarf poking out of one of the front pockets, before digging around for his headphones. He unwound them quickly and jammed them over his head. He was going for limited exposure - he knew that kind of 'music' was contagious.

He pressed play, closed his eyes and shut out the world. Finally, finally he could lose himself in a glorious world of heady smoke and beautiful boys wielding guitars.

* * *

Kurt woke to a smack on the arm and his headphones being dragged from his ears.

"Oi!," he barked, struggling to sit up as he untangled himself from the wires of his headphones.

Quinn stood in front of him, arms half crossed across her chest with her cigarette pinched between graceful fingers. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Bitch," he muttered. "I was quite happy there, thanks."

"You weren't going to invite me?" she asked. "I just sat through an hour of Hoffenburg rambling on about some boring shit while you were here the whole time? You couldn't have shot me a text so I could skip too?"

"So sorry," Kurt retorted. He shifted slightly on the grass, careful to avoid potential grass stains as he fished around for his severely squashed pack of cigarettes in his jeans' pocket. He drew one between his lips. "I was busy. Couldn't text. No time."

Quinn scoffed lightly. "Yeah, okay. Whatever." She settled herself down on the grass next to Kurt.

"You'll be really sad to hear that you missed another riveting performance from the nude erections while you were down here at lunch," she continued, idly picking at the grass around her feet. "They keep managing to get more and more shitty. I don't know how they do it. Must be a gift."

Kurt shrugged noncommittally. He had never really given any of the glee kids much thought. Generally he tried to steer clear of them as much as possible. They were just so obnoxiously enthusiastic about everything. It was very tiring.

"As long as they don't start bursting into song under the bleachers I don't really give a fuck."

Quinn nodded, flicking the ashes from her cigarette to the side before lying down next to him. She growled in annoyance as she shifted restlessly on the grass, trying to arrange her long black skirt to sit comfortably beneath her. Heat and a love of layers did not mix well.

She brought the pink-rimmed sunglasses down from where they were perched on her head, scowling up at the source of heat. "Fucking sun."

The corners of Kurt's mouth twitched upwards in silent agreement.

* * *

Blaine's first week at McKinley High had gone by in a hectic whirlwind as he had tried to grasp an understanding of the school around him. It seemed to have the same cliche rigid and unyielding social ladder he remembered all too well from his first high school. He knew exactly where on that ladder he was supposed to be - his feet would never leave the ground.

He refused to look at it as anything other than a good thing. If he was at the bottom of the food-chain it meant he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted. Nobody had any expectations of him and how he was supposed to act other than keeping out of the way of jocks and cheerleaders.

That meant that the first thing Blaine had ensured do after getting his schedule was sign-up for Glee Club. It had become his life at Dalton - the centre of all friendships and relationships, all his free time had been spent hanging with the Warblers. He hoped that New Directions would be the same. They had looked like a proper group at least, when he watched them perform in the courtyard one lunchtime. He had been pleased to see that most of them had had the chance of a few lines of solo, or at least a dance solo. In the Warblers he had tried to share the wealth of solos, but most of their numbers ended up being his and his alone. He squirmed a bit with embarrassment remembering how little he had actually actively fought against that. The New Directions looked like they would be a welcome change of pace.

The morning of his first meeting dawned bright, the fall sun streaming through his windows. He woke at the first chirp of his alarm and wiggled his toes in the warm sunlight under the covers. A grin made its way across his face. Today would be a good day.

He bounced out of bed, and showered and dressed in record time. He had carefully laid out his 'audition outfit' the night before: red high-waters neatly pressed and black polo folded smartly on the chair in the corner of his room, bow tie resting over the arm.

Once he was all set, he considered his reflection in the mirror with a critical eye: hair gelled neatly down, stripy bow-tie knotted tightly at his neck and trousers smoothed carefully down his legs. He twisted the bow-tie slightly, slid on his shoes and grabbed his keys.

He was ready.

* * *

The day passed quickly in a blur of classes and new friends; before he knew it the last bell had gone and it was time to make his way down to the choir room.

If he could find it, that was.

He was sure it was around here somewhere. He wandered around the corridors, figuring he would at least hear some singing to guide him. After a couple of minutes and still nothing, he guessed he must be on the wrong floor and made his way to the only staircase he knew: the metal steps winding their way up the walls of the courtyard. He turned the corner and made his way up from the ground floor.

He came to an abrupt halt when he realised there was someone sitting on the floor between the two flights of stairs.

He recognised him from around the halls. The boy had always been seemingly inseparable from the pink-haired girl, but now he was alone. He was resting back against the mesh railings, one leg flung out straight ahead of him, the other tucked up with his elbow resting on it as he lazily waved around a cigarette to the beat of music inaudible to Blaine. He had a chunky set of headphones resting over an artfully placed beanie. Peeking out from the front of the grey hat was a shock of multi-coloured hair effortlessly swept-up into a quiff. Numerous piercings glinted out at Blaine - he could see at least three in each ear, a couple in his eyebrows, one in his bottom lip, and, going by the clicking sound the boy was making as he shifted his jaw back and forth, a tongue bar.

He was dressed in a slightly faded black v-neck which contrasted stunningly with his pale ivory skin, collar bones showing as his neck contracted to breathe out the smoke as slowly as he could.

Blaine's gaze gradually made its way back up to his face. It had gentle features underneath all the hardware - a cute, upturned nose and wide, soft lips.

He was unlike anyone Blaine had ever met before.

The boy's ice-blue gaze bored into his hazel. Blaine started and flushed slightly with embarrassment as he realised how long he'd been staring at him. He swallowed thickly and forced a smile onto his face.

"Hi!" he said brightly, "I was wondering if you could help me?"

The boy made no response. He continued to stare at Blaine, taking slow drags on his cigarette.

Blaine persisted, widening his smile. "Please?" he implored, "I'm new here and a bit lost."

The boy heaved a deep sigh and raised a hand to his headphones, dragging one of the earpieces back to rest on the side of his head.

"What do you want?" he grudgingly asked. His voice was slightly raspy - whether from disuse or the cigarettes he smoked Blaine wasn't sure.

"Directions, please." he replied thankfully, "I can't seem to find the choir room. I thought I knew where it was, but I guess not!"

"The choir room?" he smirked. "Should have guessed. You're the fucking same as the rest of them. Well, you'll fit right in anyway."

Blaine wasn't entirely sure how to take that. He decided to move on as quickly as possible.

"So, um, how do I get there?"

"Back the way you came. Turn left at the bottom of the stairs and keep going. It's on the right. You can't miss it. Unfortunately."

"Thank you so much." he smiled down at the boy gratefully. "I'm Blaine, by the way." He stuck his hand out.

The boy eyed it warily. Eventually he sighed, transferred his cigarette to the other hand and grasped it. "Kurt."

"Pleasure to meet you, Kurt!" he chirped.

Blaine knew he was carrying this conversation somewhat, but found he didn't really mind. After only a few minutes speaking to him, this boy fascinated him.

Whenever he had seen him in the hallways around school before, a cloud of cool indifference seemed to follow him and the girl around, mingling with the ever-present blanket of smoke to ensure that no-one ever came near them. They were untouchable. Never even speaking up in class, they drifted around school with an air of nonchalance and superiority. They clearly thought school was a waste of their time.

So why was he still here when he didn't have to be?

He wanted to know him.

"You might want to be careful," he advised, for want of something else to say.

Kurt tilted his head in a silent question.

"Sitting there. Smoking," he continued. "There are loads of teachers about. I'm pretty sure it's against school rules to smoke on school property, not to mention it's probably illegal as well."

"How kind of you to consider my well-being," Kurt drawled. "I'm sure I'll be fine, thanks so much for that brand new information. I'll be sure to keep a watchful eye out for those pesky teachers you speak of."

He drew the headphones back over his ear and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the railings. It was a clear dismissal.

Blaine shook his head slightly in disbelief. He was just trying to help.

Shaking himself off, he turned and made his way back down the stairs.

Even as he heard the unmistakable sound of the New Directions warming up in the distance, his thoughts drifted back to a certain ivory-skinned boy. How long was he going to stay sat halfway up that staircase?

And how had he managed to capture Blaine so completely after a single stunted conversation?

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! This is just a short introductory chapter. - the later chapters are longer. I currently have 7 chapters, so I will be updating every couple of days :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Glee Club turned out to be so much more than Blaine could ever have imagined. It was more chaotic, more boisterous, more tiring, more alive than he could have foreseen last year when he had been sat primly on the worn leather couches in Warblers' Hall. He had known New Directions were somewhat 'looser' than the Warblers - that was, after all, a big part of their appeal - but he hadn't quite appreciated the energy and complete lack of order that went along with that.

He had opened the door cautiously to find the group mid-warm up. Or rather, one girl was stood next to the piano, hand on her stomach as she went diligently through her scales. The rest of the club sat on the risers behind her showing differing levels of input, varying from those trying valiantly to look interested to those purposefully ignoring her, tapping away on their phones or openly chatting away amongst themselves.

They had all turned when he opened the door, his arrival apparently still a shock even though he had dutifully filled in the sign-up sheet that had been pinned to the board outside. The girl had turned to glare at him for the interruption. He smiled apologetically at her, and her expression transformed in the blink of an eye to a huge grin, snatching up the sheet of paper on which Blaine recognised his own signature from the piano.

"Are you Blaine Anderson?," she demanded, without so much as a greeting.

"Um, yes, actually-"

"Are you the same Blaine Anderson who led the Dalton Academy Warblers to victory at Regionals last year?" the girl continued, paying him no heed.

"Yes, that's me, I-"

"Are you," she interrupted once again. "-the same Blaine Anderson who single-handedly turned a group of classical choral singers into the all-singing all-dancing club that performed Teenage Dream, all within just a few months?"

"Well, actually I don't think that was entirely-"

She opened her mouth to ask another question.

"Rachel!" a black girl admonished before she could say anything more. "Let the boy breathe."

"You're going to scare him off before he's even been able to say 'hi'," a girl with black hair and blue streaks chipped in from further back up the risers. "We can't afford to be doing that when we're so down on members."

Rachel looked rather affronted, but nevertheless took a step back, allowing Blaine to walk to the centre of the room.

The teacher ("Call me Mr Shue") invited him to audition, although he did say it wasn't necessary. Blaine had quickly accepted. He wanted to feel like he deserved to be there. He needed to have rightfully earned his spot in the club.

After much deliberation, he had decided to go with an energetic rendition of Tom Jones' classic 'It's Not Unusual'. He bounced around the room, playing off the band, dancing crazily and just letting go for the first time it what seemed like forever. It felt absolutely fantastic. By the end of it the whole glee club were up on their feet, dancing and harmonising along effortlessly.

He felt somehow accepted, already one of the group even though they barely knew him. After working so hard at Dalton to fit in, it was a relief to just slot into place, no questions asked.

* * *

Later that evening the sun began to descend in the sky over McKinley High, everything the light touched set aglow in muted reds and golds. Kurt still sat motionless on the floor just as Blaine had left him, the complex lattice work of the metal enclosure casting delicate shadows weaving back and forth over him, dipping and diving over the contours of his face and up into his hair. The only thing that had moved was the pair of headphones, which now hung loosely around his long, pale neck.

He had slung them off as the boy had tripped off down the stairs and scampered out of sight down the corridor. The distant sounds of the choir had increased in volume briefly as Blaine had reached his destination and opened the door, before being cut off abruptly as it clicked shut behind him.

And so he returned to his former state, headphones on, cigarette in, eyes closed. Shut off from the world, just as he liked it.

No one else had bothered him. But then, no one ever bothered him, period.

Except, apparently, bow-tie wearing munchkins with serious boundary issues.

Kurt considered the boy as he began absentmindedly clicking his eyebrow bar in and out place. Blaine was no-doubt insatiably enthusiastic and unquestionably irritating in his rule-abiding ways, yet there was a warmth which emanated from him that was surprisingly…endearing.

Kurt snorted inelegantly to himself. He must be going soft. He'd be adopting puppies and feeding the homeless next.

His phone lay next to him on the cold concrete, abandoned and deliberately ignored as it buzzed incessantly. He didn't need to even bother to look at it to see who was trying to contact him; he knew exactly who each message was from.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh he finally dragged himself up off the ground, carefully brushing off his jeans before slinging his bag across his broad chest. He supposed he would have to get this over with.

He made his way through the now silent school, the corridors infinitely improved by the absence of the surging bodies that usually pushed and pulled at him from all sides. They were nothing but ghosts now, spectral hands reaching out from closed lockers. This was the only time he ever felt comfortable here, when the school was empty like this with its eerie allure; a place usually teeming with life left vacantly dormant. The echoes of laughter and jeers resonated around the walls, the vestiges of sneers and jibes and squeaking sneakers. It was as if the buildings needed a few moments to themselves to breathe again before the onslaught began again in the morning, a deep breath of anticipation before the plunge.

Kurt was just crossing the front of the school when the double doors banged open, spilling about a dozen people out into the parking lot. They began to walk in his direction, darting around and chatting over one another, a couple of them breaking out into song for no apparent reason. Could they be more of a cliché? It was like something from fucking Fame. (The original version of course.)

He caught sight of Blaine among them, already fitting in seamlessly with the group. He was having a very animated conversation with the short(est) and (most) intense girl. Kurt remembered she had once asked his (assuredly expert) opinion on getting gold streaks in her hair. He had stared at her incredulously as she prattled on about metaphors and stars and how his hair was in such flawless condition 'even given the obvious stress he had put it through over the years'. He had held up a hand, stopping her mid-flow to point out cuttingly that gold was, in fact, a shade of blonde (which, in all her excitement about metaphors, had seemed to escape her notice), and to tell her that it would be better if she directed these questions at someone qualified to answer, or, you know, someone who actually gave a shit. He had walked off before she had time to formulate a response, leaving her spluttering and gesticulating wildly at the empty corridor.

Thankfully she hadn't tried to speak to him since.

Blaine seemed to be managing to keep up with her just fine though, listening intently and replying with equal passion. He caught Kurt's eye on one of his particularly extravagant gestures and broke off to wave happily over at him. The girl prodded Blaine and glared at him, hissing something in his ear. Blaine shrugged and walked off, leaving her standing there. She gave Kurt a quick look of disapproval before scurrying off after the other boy.

Kurt stood, slightly bemused, and watched Blaine bid farewell to the rest of the glee kids and climb into his car. He had apparently already become fast friends with all of them; show-tunes and saccharine pop were clearly excellent bonding material.

Shaking his head, Kurt turned his back on them, finally heading for home.

* * *

Kurt trudged up the front steps of his house and slipped in the front door, closing it quietly behind him. If he could just make it up the stairs silently and then to his room, maybe he wouldn't even have to deal-

"Kurt!" His father's voice hollered from deep within the house.

Kurt's head dropped to his chest in defeat. "Must have the hearing of a fucking bat," he muttered sullenly to himself.

"Yup!" his father yelled cheerily from the kitchen. "Get in here, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

He let his bag fall the floor with a thunk and leant forward to pick despondently at his laces. He didn't want to meet another mechanic, or campaign manager or whoever the fuck else his dad was talking to these days. His father didn't seem to understand that he just didn't care.

Usually he let Kurt keep himself to himself. They gave each other space and got on with things just fine on their own. Their only regular time together was Friday Night Dinners (capitalisation necessary), which tended to amount to the two of them sat awkwardly on opposite sides of the table, Kurt grunting out monosyllabic answer after monosyllabic answer until his father would get tired of asking futile questions about school and whatever other irrelevant subject he could think of. Then they would sit in silence or turn on the TV in the sitting room for some background noise until Kurt retreated to his room, where he would remain until the morning.

But sometimes, and apparently now was one of those times, he decided that they needed to do things together - he would drag Kurt out to football matches, or down to the garage for a few hours. One time he had tried to take Kurt to the huge music store on the outskirts of town, apparently in the hope to 'engage him on his level'. His father had been dreadfully misinformed that the store actually contained any music of acceptable levels of decency. That, Kurt reflected with a shudder, had not been a good day.

He pulled off his boots and tucked them carefully against the wall, next to his dad's work boots and what looked like a pair of women's clogs. Jesus. He needed to give his father a talking to about the company he kept, if the kind of people he was meeting wore clogs. Clogs. Yeesh.

He made his way to the kitchen, carefully adjusting his beanie in the hall mirror on the way through.

Stood in the kitchen was a short middle-aged woman wearing some truly horrendous acid-wash jeans and sporting some badly bleached blond hair. And oh my god was that-? Yes, yes it was. Double denim.

Good lord.

Kurt leant casually against the doorframe and gave his dad a grimace.

"Wha-," he began to ask. But then he noticed with a sudden sharp twist to his gut that his father had a hand resting on the woman's lower back, gently pushing her forwards towards him. A hand, Kurt realised with a sinking heart, which was bereft of a wedding ring.

He had no idea how long his father hadn't been wearing it. Did he lose it? Did he forget it? How could he forget it?

He was sure his dad was saying something but he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears. His whole world was zooming in on to the way his dad was touching her; all soft caresses and knowing squeezes, accompanied by a bashful shyness on both their parts that spoke volumes of the newness of … of whatever it was that they were.

His stomach lurched at the possibilities.

"Kurt," his dad's gruff voice finally pierced through the fog. "Bud, I've been trying to talk to you about this for a coupl'a weeks but you keep on ignoring me. So I figured maybe it might just be easier for you two to meet. This is Carole."

He had to force himself to look at her. She was smiling slightly nervously at him, one of her hands clutching the worktop, knuckles glaring white against the dark granite counter.

The same dark granite counter which had been picked out so painstakingly by him and his mother when he was 11. The interior design magazine they had pored over for ideas and mood boards for the renovation of the kitchen was still in Kurt's bedroom, pink post-its still stuck securely to all the particularly noteworthy designs. He knew exactly where it was, buried deep in a carefully sealed plastic box he had tried to forget about too many times. It was a constant physical reminder of all the things he knew his mind would never allow him to forget.

Apparently his father did not have the same problem.

He couldn't do this.

"What-," he tried again, before breaking off, the words stuck in his throat as it constricted and contracted uncontrollably.

He couldn't breathe.

Swallow.

Deep breath.

Start again.

"Who are you?" he finally challenged, looking her straight in the eye.

"I-, I'm Carole."

"No shit," he scoffed sarcastically. "Dad covered that, thanks. You didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

"Kurt!," his father admonished. "C'mon, be nice."

"No, it's okay," The woman said, resting a placating hand on his dad's arm. Kurt eyed it with unmasked contempt. "I'm Carole Hudson. You might know my son, Finn? He goes to McKinley too."

"Oh, I know Finn Hudson alright," he said flatly.

"Great!" she said, ignoring his less than positive reaction to the mention of her son. "Well, I met your dad at a parents' meeting a few weeks back and I guess we just hit it off right away. I've been really looking forward to meeting you."

Kurt didn't reply. Couldn't reply. Everything he had was going into keeping his face passive.

So he just stared at them, eyes flicking between the pair of them. He felt caged in all of a sudden. Claustrophobic and hemmed in. Trapped.

His father walked towards him and clapped him heavily on the shoulder. His knees nearly buckled underneath him.

"Well, kiddo, we have a dinner reservation soon. I just wanted you both to meet. How about we have dinner just the three of us another time? You should get to know each other."

Kurt swallowed. That was the last thing he wanted. But he needed to get out of this room and he didn't have the fight in him to object. He nodded stiffly and turned his back on them, trying to control his pace while putting as much distance between them as possible. He paused at the top of the stairs. He could hear them talking to each other in low voices. Kurt hadn't heard his father talking with such warmth in his voice since-

For a long time.

After a few minutes they made their way out, still talking softly as they walked through the hallway and out of the front door. Kurt quietly tip-toed down the stairs as they shut the door behind them. He cracked open the door and watched as his father rushed around the car to open the door for a giggling Carole, who was pretending to swoon at the very sight. The engine roared into life, and Kurt just caught a glimpse of them laughing with heads bent close together, before the in-car lights flicked off as they pulled out into the road and drove off into the night.

He opened the door fully and sat heavily on the stoop, leaning against the frame as he tiredly reached back for his pack of Marlboro Reds. He didn't want to go back inside. The house felt colder and emptier than it ever had.

He stretched out his legs in front him, slinging one ankle over the other and wedging one hand between his thighs. The picture of apathy was betrayed only by the slight shaking of his fingers as he raised the cigarette to his lips.

**A/N: This chapter probably gives you a good idea of the direction this fic is going in.**

**I updated sooner than I had envisaged. Just to warn you, they won't keep coming everyday! Probably twice a week. **


	3. Chapter 3

Kurt sat on the top of the climbing frame in the empty park, legs swinging gently beneath him. Both elbows were drawn up to rest on the bars in front of him, one hand tucked under his chin as he gazed out over the deserted playground. The echoes of children's shouts had long since died down, tugged away firstly by the breeze and then later by their mothers, all rushing to get home to their families.

In one hand he clutched a lighter, compulsively flicking it open and closed with a satisfying click. The corner of a silk scarf peeked out from the pocket of his jeans, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Over the past few days he had spent less and less time at home, trying to dodge any possible interaction with his dad, or, even worse, with _her._

Mornings were easy. His father left early for the garage, so Kurt could lie still in bed until he had heard the car pull out of the driveway. Then and only then would he pad softly through the empty house to the kitchen. He would sit over his fruit and yogurt at the breakfast bar, relishing the silence as the light slowly crept up from the shadows to envelope the house in an illusion of warmth. But the weak fall sun never managed to permeate the ever-present chill blanketing picture-perfect family home.

The daytime passed slowly. He had carefully cultivated a look of 'attentive detachment' in class, being sure not to show any interest whilst trying to learn as much as possible. Carefully maintaining a slightly above average grade was harder than one might imagine – falling too far either side would attract attention, and he preferred to slip by unnoticed by teachers and students alike.

After school he usually retreated to his staircase in the courtyard. He would watch as the janitors 'cleaned' the area of the debris left by the negligent masses from lunchtime. Although, Kurt mused, it would be much more pertinent to call it 'futile rearrangement of trash' since they never seemed to actually clear anything from the tables. And Figgins wondered why the school had a low hygiene rating.

The evenings were the most problematic part of his day. Either he would shut himself in his room, or head down to the park once he was sure all the kids would be gone. The latter, however, was becoming more and more difficult as winter began to rear its frosty head, bitter winds tearing through the small clearing.

"Hey."

He started out of his musings, looking down at the source of the voice. Quinn.

He grunted in acknowledgment as she nimbly climbed up the wooden frame and settled down next to him, slipping her legs next to his under the bars.

"Can I grab a light?"

He held it out to her in response. She reached for the cigarette she had tucked behind her ear and lit it with one hand, sheltering it from the wind with the other.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

Their relationship was one that required few words; the other's presence was enough. There was an understanding between them, an acceptance that they had both been through shit, but were still going, and would keep going.

One cigarette later, she spoke. "Noah talked to me today."

Kurt considered her carefully. She was leaning fully over the bars, staring down past her feet to the chippings covering the floor beneath the climbing frame. Her hair was falling over her face, but Kurt could just make out her eyes, slightly red and glassy. "Yeah?" he probed.

"Yeah."

Kurt sighed. "What did he say?" he pushed.

"He said that he wanted to put everything behind us and move on. Just like that. And then he asked if I wanted to join their merry bunch of freaks again. Apparently they're short a few members." She scoffed, taking a quick drag on her cigarette. "He can fuck right off."

Kurt hummed in agreement. "They're still short on members?" he asked before he could stop himself. "Even though Blaine joined?"

"Who is _Blaine?_"

Fuck. "New kid," he said casually. "Preppy do-gooder transfer student."

"And you talked to him? You don't talk to anyone if you can help it."

"Yeah, well. It was more him talking at me."

She didn't say anything for a few moments.

"But you _noticed_ him."

"You can't _not_ notice him," he protested. "He's like a flamboyant light-house beaming out over a dull flat sea."

She snorted softly in amusement, but then turned to him, studying him closely. He could feel his face heating up under her scrutiny, and looked the other way, trying to casually block his face with his hand. Fucking pale complexion always letting him down.

"But you noticed him," she repeated quietly.

* * *

The next day at school Kurt drifted along the hall as usual, not paying any attention to the hordes of people pushing and shoving around him in the rush between classes. He came to an abrupt stop, a solid wall of red and white blocking the corridor in front of him completely.

"Out of the way, freak."

He blinked and jolted back against the lockers, swallowing the shame he felt with himself for _still_ being afraid. The jocks all held cups filled with bright red slushie. They were strutting down the corridor in a line, laughing as students jumped out of their way in fright.

They stopped a little way down the hallway, crowding around one person at a locker. Kurt peered over in spite of himself to try and see who it was. He could just make out a head of dark hair and a horrendous checked shirt with a white bow-tie tied neatly at his throat.

Blaine.

There was a loud crash as a pile of textbooks tumbled to the ground from his arms, and then a thunderous cheer as a splatter sounded along the hall, some of the slushie hit the lockers and floor. Most of it, though, hit Blaine in the face, all but silent save for a short, sharp, human gasp.

The jocks were all laughing and punching each other on the arm, already ignoring the boy in front of them completely. They ambled off down the hall, the echoes of their laughter reverberating through the school.

Kurt looked around, hoping that one of the glee kids would be around to help Blaine. He couldn't seem to avoid them anymore; _surely_ one of them must be around. _Of fucking course_ the one time he needed them they weren't there.

He glanced back at Blaine. He was blinking rapidly, rooted to the spot and too shocked to move. Chunks of the coloured ice were running down his face and onto the floor like icy tears, forming a small puddle around his feet. It was slipping quickly out of his glossy hair (so the gel_ did_ have a use - slushie repellent) and dropping down his shirt, the red ice dying the shirt to look like some kind of tie-dye disaster. Because the shirt clearly didn't have enough colours already. It would be no great tragedy if it was ruined forever, Kurt reflected. At least something good could come from this.

The stream of students was resolutely ignoring Blaine, continuing their conversations as they filtered past him like a river split by a boulder. He could see Blaine begin to swipe at his eyes desperately, the shock wearing off as the pain set in.

There was _still_ no-one of any use around.

Oh _fucking hell_.

* * *

Blaine felt like all of his senses were being assaulted at once. The cacophony of dismissive students swirling around him left him disorientated and confused. His eyes were burning even as he tried desperately to get rid of the slushie. The cherry flavour was already turning bitter in his mouth, and he could feel the lumps of ice under his shirt, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He flinched at the touch of a hand on his arm._ Please don't have come back_. He felt incredibly vulnerable, stranded blind in the middle of the corridor. He half expected them to come back so they could do some 'real damage' now he was incapacitated. He blinked even faster, trying to flush the slushie from his eyes to see who was stood in front of him.

"It's okay, they've gone," a familiar voice said quietly. "Close your eyes. You need to wash this off straight away. Come on into the bathroom."

A second hand fell on his other arm and loosely guided him through a door into what he presumed was the bathroom. The powerful odour of smoke filled his nostrils and he suppressed a great sigh of relief. It was Kurt. _Kurt_ was standing close behind him, pushing him across the room. This close he could trace undertones of lavender and lemongrass through the smoke that were surprisingly comforting. The hands released him and he was gently ordered to remain still.

He stood obediently as he heard the taps squeak open, feeling the faint splashes of water warm against his shivering body.

"Okay, it's full," Kurt said, pushing him gently forward with a hand to his lower back. "You should wash your eyes out first."

He reached out blindly in front of him for the sink, gratefully sinking his hands into the warm water when his hands hit the cool porcelain. The hand vanished from his back, leaving him colder than ever. He leant over and scooped water up over his face, scrubbing away as much of the freezing slushie as he could. He glanced up at himself into the mirror. His face was red raw, eyes peeking out through swollen skin. Most of the ice had been washed away, and just a few lumps were left sticking under his shirt.

"Thank you," he turned slightly to face Kurt in the mirror, who was now leaning back against the wall by the door, watching him closely.

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. "Someone had to do it," he said nonchalantly. "You were starting to flail around like a fish on dry land. I had to put you out of your misery."

"No you didn't," Blaine said slowly, turning around to look at Kurt properly. "You didn't have to help me. No-one else did." _No-one ever does._

Kurt dropped his gaze to the floor. Blaine could see his eyes flickering across the tiles, tracing the pattern as they zigzagged across the room.

He finally looked up, directly meeting Blaine's eyes. "No-one has ever done this for me," he said, almost defiantly, daring Blaine to ask exactly what he meant. "I am hoping for some kind of karmic recompense I suppose."

"You get slushied?" He couldn't imagine anyone ever having the nerve to do that to Kurt. But then again, he couldn't imagine even doing that to anyone, so what did he know?

"Got - past tense.," Kurt elucidated. "My slushied days are over."

"Why?" Blaine asked bluntly, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why did they stop?"

"I suppose the fuckers got bored of it." The corners of Kurt's mouth turned up bitterly. "I think they managed to make their point anyway."

Blaine didn't understand. How could they have got bored of it when they had just relished in giving the same treatment to him? He must be missing something.

He opened his mouth to ask, but promptly shut it again once he saw the expression on Kurt's face. The bitter smile had faded, leaving him looking completely defeated. He seemed absolutely exhausted, slumped back heavily against the wall.

"Well, anyway, thank you again," he said, searching out those ice-blue eyes. "It really does mean a lot to me."

Kurt nodded, almost to himself, and then gestured at him. "Your shirt is ruined. Do you have a spare in your locker?"

He looked down at his sodden chest. There was no way he could sit in this for the rest of the day. "No," he sighed.

"You might want to start keeping a change of clothes at school in case this happens again. I still keep some in my locker just in case. You could borrow a t-shirt if you wanted, they're all clean and everything. I get it if you don't want to though, I was just offering. You probably don't want one of my t-shirts. But, um, it's there if you want it," Kurt trailed off awkwardly, his voice rising at the end as if it was a question. He twisted his hands nervously _(nervously?)_ in front of him, before he seemed to realise what he was doing and pulled them down by his side.

Blaine smiled kindly at him. "That would be fantastic, thank you." He grimaced, "I don't want to be stuck in this gross thing all day at all."

"I'll just-," Kurt gestured towards the door. "-Go get you one."

Kurt slipped out of the door, silently pulling the door closed after him.

Blaine stared at the door long after it had shut. Kurt seemed to be embarrassed to have shown an act of kindness, and uncomfortable with Blaine's gratitude. Or was that unfamiliarity?

He turned slowly back to the sink. The water was now dyed pale red, leaving an ominous scarlet stain around the edge of the water-level. He quickly looked away and pulled the plug._ No._ He was not going to think about that now.

He ran the taps for a few moments to be sure all the dye had gone before refilling it, this time hotter and with some soap squeezed into it. He rubbed roughly over his face, trying to clear his thoughts. Worse things had happened than to have an ice-cold drink thrown in his face. It was fine. _He_ was fine. It was just a bit of food colouring.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and started to peel it back from over his skin. Just as he reached the last button the door opened to reveal Kurt, now clutching a small black bundle.

Kurt paused half way through the door. His eyes were fixed on Blaine's chest, which Blaine glanced down to see was covered in the dye, chunks of ice still dripping to the ground.

"Sorry," Kurt squeaked. "I can just, go back, I'll come b-"

"No, no it's fine," Blaine said, drawing the shirt back closely around him and folding his arm tightly across his chest. Kurt was still staring at him strangely. Oh no, the red, he must think-

"It's just dye," he rushed to clarify.

"I know," Kurt replied, slightly questioningly._ Of course it was dye you idiot. Why would it be anything else?_

Kurt held out the t-shirt to him. Blaine grabbed it thankfully with one hand, the other keeping firm hold of his own shirt. He looked down at the soft black v-neck in his hands. There was a large label on the inside of the back of the neck, but it seemed to have been blacked out. Blaine thought he could just make out an 'M' and an 'A'. Wait.

"Is this Marc Jacobs?" he asked incredulously.

Kurt looked at him with wide eyes, startled. "You know designers?"

"_You_ know designers?" he countered.

Kurt drew himself up. "And why wouldn't I?"

"Because-," he said gesturing wildly at Kurt's form in front of him. "Because you have a strict uniform of black skinny jeans, t-shirts and loose-fitting cardigans. Because your hair is-, is the way it is. Because I've only ever see you wear one pair of boots. Because you're…you."

For some reason, Kurt was looking slightly pleased. "You should know, Blaine, that a t-shirt is never just a t-shirt," he began condescendingly. "Black skinny jeans most certainly_ aren't_ just black skinny jeans. You clearly don't know that much about designers if you think I've been wearing the same jeans for the past couple of weeks." He wrinkled his nose at the very idea.

Blaine grinned openly at him. "Okay, then. Enlighten me, oh wise one."

"I have, in fact, nine pairs of 'black skinny jeans'. They all have completely different cuts, different treatments, and different _colours_ even," Kurt said, his face growing more animated by the second. "True black is almost impossible to find. And as I said, a t-shirt is never simply a t-shirt. The cut is absolutely vital. It has to sit just right on your shoulders, and either nip in at the waist _just-so_ or hang loosely in a flattering manner. And as for my boots-"

He was interrupted just as he was getting into his stride by the door banging open against the wall. Rachel was digging through her bag as she walked absently towards Blaine, completely in her own world.

"Rachel, what are you doing in here?" Blaine squawked. She looked up startled, and glanced between Kurt and Blaine. Kurt seemed to deflate, coming back to himself (or was it away from himself?) as he slouched heavily back against the wall.

"Blaine! This is the ladies', what are you talking about?"

Blaine stared over at her, completely bewilidered. "Kurt, why are we-" he started to ask, looking over to where Kurt had been.

But he was gone, the door clicking quietly shut in his wake.

**A/N: W****hat is Glee fanfiction without a good old slushying? **

******Thanks again for reading! I really appreciate the follows, favourites and reviews from you guys so far. Much love 3.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Blaine?"

Blaine paid no attention to Rachel, still staring at the closed door through which Kurt had disappeared just seconds ago.

Just for a moment there had been a spark, a glint of life in those impassive blue eyes, only to be extinguished so definitively the second Kurt had spotted Rachel. He had been offered a fleeting glimpse into the person behind the piercings, exposed by talk of _clothing_ of all things. Kurt was even more of an enigma than he had previously thought.

Blaine was still clutching the soft t-shirt tightly in his hands. He didn't really understand why he had been entrusted with it, or even why Kurt had chosen to help him. He had no idea what he was doing right, what exactly had made Kurt forget himself for a moment, he just prayed he could keep on doing…whatever it was.

"Blaine!"

He finally glanced up at Rachel, who was staring at him with a mixture of uncertainty and unbridled curiosity.

"Sorry," he apologised. "I didn't release this was the girls' bathroom."

"It's okay," she waved a hand in dismissal. "I know Kurt used to come in here when he got slushied a lot back in freshman year. Why did he help you?" she asked bluntly, seeming affronted that _he_ had been the one whom Kurt had bothered to help. "He must have watched us Glee Club members get slushied thousands of time and he's never once rushed to our aid."

_I wish I knew_. "Beats me," he shrugged. "You knew he was getting slushied in freshman year? Were you friends with him?"

She snorted. "No. No-one has ever been friends with him apart from Quinn. And even that is questionable. He's always been quiet, but he dressed differently in freshman year, had none of the … accessories he has now. That all changed at the beginning of sophomore year. I don't really know what happened, though."

Blaine's curiosity piqued once more. He felt even more honoured and even more confused as to why Kurt had decided to (briefly) open up to him.

"Why did he get slushied in the first place?" he inquired, desperate for more information.

"Because he's gay," she said slowly. This was obviously not supposed to be news to him. "Or rather," she corrected herself, "because the jocks are terrified of anything different from themselves and must therefore seek to destroy it."

"He's gay," he repeated quietly under his breath. He had hoped, of course, but never dared to actually think about it. He could feel a smile growing on his face, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. "He's gay," he said again a little louder, now fully beaming at Rachel. Who looked thoroughly disgusted.

"Don't get any ideas," she huffed. "I've heard things about him, rumours about his 'personal life'," she mimed exaggerated air quotes. "You don't want to get involved with someone like that."

"Someone like what, exactly?" he asked cautiously, his smile dropping slightly.

"Someone who is so … carefree with their virtue."

Blaine blinked at her. "Where did you hear that?"

She shrugged. "Just around."

He shook his head in disbelief. "With all due respect, Rachel, you don't know him - I'm not saying that I do either - but you're spreading seemingly groundless rumours. He has shown kindness to me. He leant me his t-shirt," he waved it in her direction. "I will not treat him differently because you told me some things some people have apparently been talking about."

She eyed the shirt warily, and then turned to him pleadingly. "I just want you to be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

It was amazing how quickly she could go from being incredibly irritating to incredibly sweet. Even if she was still a little misguided. He reached over to place a hand on her arm. "Rachel, I will be fine. I can look after myself. Okay?"

She continued to frown at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Okay?" he asked again.

She sighed. "Fine, but if he breaks your heart I reserve the right to say I told you so. Before I give you copious amounts of ice-cream and I treat you to the Rachel Berry medley of heartbreaking power ballads, of course."

"Of course," he said, ducking his head in amusement. "But I've spoken to Kurt like, twice. So don't break out the ice-cream just yet."

* * *

She soon left him to it, dress billowing out behind her as she marched purposefully out of the door. She seemed to do everything _deliberately,_ always on the move to something more important. It made Blaine feel very inadequate; left him wishing he even had something worthy of walking with purpose to do.

He locked the door behind her and finally, _finally_ peeled the shirt off from where it was now firmly glued to his body. He was disgustingly sticky, splotches of red dye giving his skin a particularly attractive mottled effect.

He filled the sink one more time, at long last getting rid of every remaining chunklet of slushie. A worrying amount of ice had not yet melted, despite being on his skin for nearly half an hour now. What was even _in_ those slushies?

He dried himself off with some paper towels (the environment would have to forgive him for not using the air dryer this once) and unfolded the slightly faded black v-neck from where he had carefully laid it out on one of the dry sinks.

He pulled it over his head, and froze as he was immediately overwhelmed with _Kurt._ He could smell a few traces of smoke, but it was not overpowering at all. The shirt was fresh, light and airy, laced with the same lemongrass and lavender he had smelled on Kurt earlier.

_Wow, that wasn't creepy at all._

And, on reflection, he can't look entirely normal either. He was standing, after all, half-naked in the middle of the girls' bathroom with a t-shirt stuck over on his head.

Forcing himself to not just breathe in the intoxicating scent of the shirt, he pushed his arms through the holes and pulled it down over his body. He was pleased that he at least filled out the shoulders, even if it dipped slightly where he knew it pulled tightly over the broad muscles of Kurt's chest.

He tried not to think about how the shirt must drape around Kurt's long neck, about how it might slip slightly to expose his sculpted collar-bones, about how his arms would stretch the fabric when he reached to open his locker. About how if he were to reach up the get something from a top shelf it would ride up to reveal millimetres of smooth, flat, flawless skin.

He really did try. One might even say_ valiantly._ And unless his grandmother has been lying to him all these years, that's all that counts in the end.

He shook himself from his daydreams and looked in the mirror glumly; he was nothing on Kurt. Sighing, he turned away from the mirror and unlocked the bathroom door. He walked reluctantly to his locker, expecting to find books and slushie and mess everywhere. The jocks had managed to catch him at exactly the wrong time (or, he supposed, the exact_ right_ time from their perspective); just as he was organising for afternoon classes - all his books out and bag wide open.

To his surprise however, his locker was shut and the hallway was completely clear; no slushie to be seen. He opened his locker, confused. His bag was tucked neatly into the side of the locker, books all stacked carefully underneath. He ran a finger down their spines. They were dry. And arranged in alphabetical order.

Bizarre.

He highly doubted the janitors would have done anything this quickly (if they would have done anything at all), the rest of the student body couldn't care less and Rachel had marched off in the other direction (and probably wouldn't have even noticed it anyway). That left Kurt.

He had a feeling Kurt wasn't quite done surprising him yet.

* * *

If Kurt had entered the parking lot later that day at exactly the same time as Glee let out then that was just pure coincidence. Or bad luck. One of the two.

There was no way he had been sat on his staircase with one headphone off waiting for the wailing to end. He had most certainly not loped off quickly to the parking lot, had not spotted the club all chatting by the door and dug out a cigarette for want of something to keep him there.

And he had _definitely_ not pin-pointed Blaine's car. No, he hadn't memorised that licence plate from the other day or trawled his memories of his days working in the garage to remember the exact make and model. (Chrysler Grand Voyager, 2009).

_Fuck_ no.

He was just having a quick cigarette break before he went home. On this handy wall here. Yup.

_What am I doing?_

Before he could begin to ponder that great unanswerable question however, Blaine had waved goodbye to the others, wedging his hands deep in his pockets before walking towards his car. Kurt couldn't help but flick his eyes over the boy's frame, a jolt to his stomach confirming that Blaine was still wearing Kurt's black t-shirt. Blaine had tucked it into his pants, and found some suspenders from God knows where to put on over the top. Kurt had to grudgingly admit he made it work.

Blaine's eyes were downcast, studying the asphalt in front of him carefully as he slowly crossed the parking lot. He glanced up as he neared the car, keys now in hand. He lit up as he spotted Kurt, a wide smile spreading rapidly across his face. Kurt tried to ignore the pleasant swooping in his gut as he locked gaze with the bright hazel eyes of the boy now sauntering towards him.

Blaine walked around to the front of car, pausing a few feet from Kurt. He leaned back against the hood of the car, one leg tucking up on the fender as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest, flexing his fingers around the strong muscle. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Kurt.

Kurt didn't know what to say. _He really should have thought this through._

"Hi," he said eventually.

"Hello," Blaine replied, a teasing smile playing around his lips. "Is there any particular reason why you're hanging out by my car, or is this another one of your 'spots'?".

"No reason. Just…sitting. You got a problem with that?"

"No, no," Blaine reassured, raising a placating hand. "Just wondering." He studied Kurt carefully, not saying anything more. Kurt grew uncomfortable under his gaze, shifting slightly as he stared down at the floor.

"What?" he demanded.

"Can I ask you a question?" Blaine enquired tentatively.

"I'm sure you're going to anyway," Kurt drawled, lifting his eyes to meet Blaine's.

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly, looking away from Kurt. "Right, well," he began hesitantly. "Why are you always here? Why don't you just go home after school? You clearly don't want to be here."

Kurt opened his mouth to give the usual acerbic retort he had saved for anyone asking anything even vaguely personal, but something made him pause. There was a certain quality about Blaine and his stupidly hopeful expression that made it impossible to lie to him. He couldn't quite bring himself to shut the door on the openness Blaine had offered him.

He settled for a slightly ambiguous, but truthful response. "It's better here."

Blaine considered this for a few moments, running his teeth over his bottom lip until he nodded infinitesimally.

"Okay," he accepted. "I get that."

They stared at each other for a moment, both trying to glean exactly where the other was coming from, before quickly looking away in embarrassment. Kurt fiddled with his ear piercing awkwardly, praying for Blaine to just walk away before this got any worse.

Blaine's eyes flicked searchingly around the parking lot before his face once again lit up. It was somewhat disconcerting how quickly his emotions seemed to transform. "So," Blaine said brightly, seeming to have regained his former over-enthusiastic self. "What kind of music do you like? Your headphones are permanently attached to your head."

"No-one you would have heard of," Kurt said dismissively.

"No? Try me." Blaine challenged, puffing up his chest. "My vast range in musical taste and knowledge may astound you."

"I hardly think listening to both Pink and Katy Perry qualifies as a 'vast range in musical taste'. Actually, I hate to break it to you, but their songs don't even qualify as_ music."_

Blaine didn't seem fazed in the slightest, drawing a hand to his chest in fake shock. "How did you know they were my favourites?"

The corners of Kurt's mouth twitched up involuntarily. "Just a hunch."

"Okay, well. Educate me about your 'proper music', then." Blaine folded his arms and leant forward, a look of rapt attention on his face.

"I have Fall of Eden constantly on repeat at the moment."

"Oh yes," Blaine nodded sagely. "I know them well. Their second album is completely flawless. I really like the direction their music is going. Really progressive."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. "Really?"

"Nope," Blaine said happily. "Never heard of them in my life."

Kurt snorted. "You do surprise me."

Blaine looked incredibly pleased with himself. "What kind of music is that, anyway?"

"Do you actually want to know?" he asked, a little cautiously.

"I actually want to know," Blaine reassured, grinning with his head tilted on one side. "Everyday is a school day, after all."

"Okay, um, well, it's metal. Progressive metal to be specific."

"I can't say that's a genre I'm familiar with."

"Shocking," Kurt said wryly.

"It's actually one of the only genres I've never delved into. Well, that and opera. I don't think I have the voice to pull off _Nessun dorma_, unfortunately."

Kurt shrugged. "I don't imagine many people have the voice to pull off _Nessun dorma_. It's a bitch of an aria to get the right mix of technical skill and emotional depth into."

Blaine looked at him with wonder. Shit.

He was saved by the angry beeping of his phone from his pocket. He tugged it out, grimacing as he saw who it was.

_From: Dad (5.43 pm)_

_Don't forget we're having dinner with Carole tonight. Please be home soon._

Oh how he wished he could forget.

He glanced up at Blaine, who was carefully scrutinising his nails, determined not to look interested.

"I have to go," Kurt said flatly.

Blaine nodded and pushed himself forward off the car. "It's okay, I should probably be getting going as well. And thank you again for this," Blaine ran a hand over the shoulder of his shirt. Kurt couldn't help but follow the path of his fingers as they traced over the material and then skirted down over a strong, tanned arm. "I'll get it back to you as soon as I can."

Kurt nodded slightly dumbly in acknowledgement, watching as Blaine climbed into his car and reversed slowly (_glacially)_ out of his space. He waved cheerily at Kurt one last time before putting the car in drive and turning out onto the road.

Kurt stood up, brushing himself off and taking a few quick, deep drags on his cigarette. He tossed it to the floor and ground it under his boot, leaving it satisfyingly flat.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and started the short walk home, hoping to drag the 5 minute walk out for as long as possible.

* * *

**A/N: Once more ... thanks for all the follows!**

**If anyone feels like nitpicking about the make of car that Blaine has please feel free to tell me...I took an educated guess what it was from the car he drove in The First Time. Eh. These things matter to me for some reason. **

**(Also, I'm editing this while watching the gymnastics at the Olympics so I hope some random mentions of pikes and tucks hasn't cropped in anywhere :/ ) (Go Team GB!) (Also Go Team All-The-Countries-You-Guys-Are-From :P )**


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen minutes later Kurt stood at the end of his driveway next to the mailbox, staring up at the house in front of him. It was fairly unremarkable, one white house on a street of white houses. But for as long he could remember it had been home; all his memories revolved around these four walls.

Two cars were pulled up outside the garage, a battered old truck and a small silver hatchback. The front yard was simple but immaculately kept, the lawn neatly cut and the hedges trimmed back. A pale flagstone path led to the front deck, empty save for a hanging chair which squeaked gently on rusty hinges as it rocked in the breeze.

All the windows already glowed brightly, even though the sun was still hovering on the horizon, not quite ready to fall completely out of sight. For years now Kurt had returned to a dark house, not even bothering to turn on lights as he trod the familiar path to his room. On occasion his father would fall asleep in the sitting room in front of the TV, the curtains drawn tightly across the windows causing shadows to flicker through the cracks.

Kurt ambled up the path, subconsciously tracing the pattern of the stones with his eyes as he went. He pushed open the heavy door and shrugged his way into the hall, allowing it to fall shut solidly behind him as he kicked off his boots. He pushed them to the side of the hallway and dumped his bag unceremoniously on top.

There was soft music filtering through the house from the kitchen, interrupted intermittently by his dad's barking laugh and the occasional crash of pots and pans. Kurt winced as a particularly loud clatter rang through the house.

He padded quietly with socked feet towards the source of the noise, nudging open the door with his knee.

They were stood hip to hip at the sink, his dad elbow deep in soapy water as he sloshed it around in semblance of doing the dishes. There appeared to be more water surrounding the sink than in it: it was like a child was doing the washing-up. Carole was wielding a tea towel, still giggling as she wiped down a pan handed to her by Burt.

Kurt cleared his throat to get their attention, ready to break up this little moment of 'domestic bliss'. Burt glanced over his shoulder at him, throwing him a wide grin.

"Hey, bud," he said. "Just in time. We thought we'd make dinner together and eat in instead of going out, since it's a special occasion."

"A special occasion," Kurt said flatly. "Right."

"We made lemon chicken," Carole added. "Your dad said it was your favourite."

"Yeah. When I was 13."

"Well, I'm sure you still must like it," she smiled at him. "That's not very long ago."

Kurt looked at his father, making sure his face was completely passive. "No. No, it's really not a very long time, is it dad?" he said, searching his father's face for a reaction. He got nothing.

Kurt turned back to Carole. Her smile was wavering slightly as she glanced between the two men.

"Well," she said. "It should be ready in a couple of minutes, anyway. Would you like a drink, Kurt?"

"I can get it," he said over his shoulder as he walked across the kitchen to the fridge, grabbing a can of diet coke. "Since, you know, it's my kitchen."

"Of course," she said, looking a bit flustered as she smoothed her apron down tensely.

Kurt walked over to the sound system and flicked it off, before dragging out a chair and flopping down onto it. He sat, perfectly content to be silent, as his dad and Carole bustled around the kitchen finishing the preparations for dinner. He closed his eyes and leant back in his chair against the wall. He ignored them as they talked quietly to each other while dishing out the food, all the playfulness from earlier evaporated.

They brought the food to the table, which had been set out surprisingly tastefully with burgundy candles and a cream table cloth Kurt didn't recognise. He started to eat, trying to look as engrossed in his food as he could.

Unfortunately, however, Carole had decided that it was the perfect time for a game of 20 Questions.

"How's school going, Kurt?"

"Fine."

"Do you like it? School, I mean?"

"It's fine."

"Do you have a girlfriend? Your dad mentioned you and Quinn spend-"

He interrupted her with a snort. "You'd probably do better asking your own son about Quinn than me."

She frowned at him. "I know all about my son and Quinn. I asked if you have a girlfriend."

"Are you seriously asking that?"

Carole looked confused. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh my God. I'm_ gay."_

"Oh," she flushed slightly. "Sorry. Do you have a boyfriend, then?"

He raised his eyebrows derisively at her. "Not one that would fall into your definition of boyfriend, I imagine," he said blithely.

His dad looked up sharply at that, scrutinising him. "What does that mean?" he demanded.

"Nothing, dad," he waved it off. "Don't worry your little head about it."

"Don't patronise me, Kurt, I know exactly what you meant." Burt glanced sideways at Carole. "We will talk about this later."

"I can hardly wait," Kurt replied sarcastically to his plate.

Burt narrowed his eyes at him but didn't make any further comment.

"So," Carole tried again, desperately trying to make conversation. "Do you have any idea what you want to do after you graduate high school?"

"To get out of Ohio as quickly as possible." He kept his eyes on his plate.

"Do you have any extracurriculars?"

"No."

"My Finn does Glee Club and football. He loves them both so much. Do you like sports?"

"No."

"Well, how about music then?"

He shrugged.

"I don't believe anyone can dislike music."

"That's a shame for you."

"Kurt!" his father interrupted gruffly. "Cut it out. Enough with the snark."

Kurt turned his cool gaze on his father, blinking insolently at him. Burt stared straight back, pale eyes gleaming out from under the shade of the cap he still insisted on wearing.

Kurt broke first and dropped his eyes to glare back down at his food, pushing it around his plate as he tried to ignore the fast thumping of his heart in his chest.

"Carole, you were saying?" Burt prompted calmly.

"Well," she nervously babbled, "The club is always looking for new members. Maybe you and Finn could get to know each other a bit better if you both go to the same extracurricular?"

"Finn and I know each other enough, thanks. And no, not going to happen."

"You used to love that stuff, kid," Burt leant back in his chair, casually slinging an arm over the back of Carole's chair. "You used to sing along for hours to bootlegged copies of whatever musical you could get your hands on."

"Key words in that being 'used to'," he replied shortly.

"You still have all those CDs up in your room," Burt pointed out. "Maybe it's something you might want to get back into."

"You know why I have those CDs, _dad_. And it's not for my apparent love of musical theatre. Stop pushing this."

His father looked wearily away from Kurt, reaching up with a tired hand to pull off his cap, rubbing a hand absentmindedly over his face and back over his head. "Just an idea. You don't seem very much yourself lately, it could help."

Kurt snorted derisively. "So I'm not the obnoxious child singing ridiculous songs and wearing ridiculous clothes anymore. So fucking what?"

"So you're not happy anymore, Kurt. That's what."

The beating in Kurt's chest sped up once more. "Are you serious? I'm 'not happy anymore'? I can't believe-. Jesus Christ, dad. No. No no no."

Kurt pushed his chair back from the table shaking his head in disbelief, knife and fork clattering down onto the plate as he stood. There was no way he was staying here to talk about this, let alone in front of a complete stranger.

"And what were you planning for tonight,_ dad?_" he continued in a lower, more dangerous tone, a spiteful smirk finding its way onto his face. "You thought we could play happy families? Pretend like we do this every night – that we have meals together all the time like a proper family? We chat about our days, we discuss our _interests_ and _heart's desires_ and have a laugh over the washing-up," he rolled his eyes in contempt. "You bring me out to put on some kind of show for her? Well, here's your show. I genuinely don't give a_ shit_ what you do with her; just don't bring me into it anymore."

He whirled around, just catching the defeated expression on his father's face and the shocked look on Carole's before he strode out of the room. He grabbed his bag from the hall and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Reaching the relative sanctuary of his room, he closed the door firmly behind him, leaning back against it as he dug around frantically in his bag.

His fingers searched out the soft material, latching on tightly as soon as they felt the corners of the silk scarf. He forced himself to loosen his grip and not crumple it, instead running the material gently through his hands. The soothing whispers of fabric comforted him in a way that no one or nothing could ever do. He buried his face in the familiar fabric and breathed deeply, the scent of the perfume he regularly sprayed it with calming his ragged gasps gradually into sure deep breaths. Kurt lowered the cloth from his face, still bone-dry, and tucked it safely back in the pocket of his bag.

Despite the early hour, he undressed quickly and pulled on his softest sweats before switching off the lights and burrowing under the warm covers of his bed.

By the time there was a gentle knock on the door a couple of hours later, he had fallen into a fitful sleep. He wasn't aware of Burt cracking open the door, or a wide triangle of yellow light streaming into the dark room, illuminating his shock of multi-coloured hair from where it peeked out from under the covers.

Burt stood for a moment in the doorway, watching his son sleep. Kurt was knotted hopelessly in the sheets, twitching and shifting incessantly, not even peaceful in sleep.

"G'night, kiddo," Burt sighed. "I guess we'll talk tomorrow. Sleep well."

Kurt snuffled into the covers as Burt quietly pulled the door to behind him, trying to bury himself impossibly deeper into his bed as desperately sought out a source of warmth, even in dreams.

* * *

Kurt slipped out of the house as early as he could the next morning, his father's snores still rattling through the house as he silently tiptoed down the stairs and out of the front door.

He breathed in the crisp fall air, filling his lungs as he set off down the street. He made a quick pit-stop in the coffee place around the corner from the school, before meandering slowly through the empty streets, contentedly slurping on his coffee as he relished the quiet. Once he arrived a good few minutes later, he settled on the floor against the wall, stretching out his limbs in the cool early morning sun. He leant his head back against the concrete, closing his eyes against the bright light as he continued to sip on his coffee.

"You should be an edgy writer or like, a painter in a really pretentious artsy film," a voice came from right above him.

Kurt's eyes fluttered open and he squinted up through the blinding sunlight to look at...Blaine. _Of course._ "What?"

"Coffee and cigarettes. And Doc Martens. Isn't that like, a thing? A hipster thing? I'm sorry, I'm not terribly _au fait_ with hipster happenings. But there's definitely a film in there somewhere."

"Again. I repeat. What?"

"I would totally watch that movie," Blaine mused, not paying Kurt any attention. "It could be a new coming-of-age cult classic that no one really understands, but everyone _'totally gets it, man_'. It would be about absolutely nothing but people would claim it changed their lives."

"I literally have no idea what the fuck you're on about."

"I'm okay with that," Blaine grinned. "Good morning, Kurt."

"Hi."

"Not very long time, no see"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. "That doesn't even make sense." Blaine just continued to grin at him. "Did you take extra-happy pills this morning or something?"

Blaine shrugged. "I guess I'm just a morning person."

Kurt snorted. "That figures. 'To me, a 'morning person' may just as well be described as a 'crazy person'."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"How the hell are you going to take that as a compliment?"

"You can make anything a compliment if you want to," Blaine said boldly.

"Deep," Kurt scoffed.

"I know," Blaine nodded seriously, lips pressed tightly together. "But just to prove my point that that was a compliment - you say crazy people are morning people, and yet here you are, at what?" he glanced at his watch. "Half past seven. A full hour before you need to be here. So you are officially a 'morning person' whether you like it or not. You are thus placing me in a group which contains you. That can only be taken as a compliment."

Kurt blinked in confusion up at Blaine, who was smiling impossibly sweetly at him. "Yes," he said, trying to clear his head. "But can you not tell from the bucket of coffee that I am currently consuming that this is not my preferred state of being?"

"I don't know, you looked quite content basking in the sun like a cat when I arrived."

"Like a cat," Kurt repeated. "Sure."

Blaine beamed at him and glanced around the parking lot. "Do you mind if I sit down? It's weird talking down at you."

"Not my wall," he said dismissively. Blaine still hesitated, shuffling his weight from one leg to the other. "That means yes, Blaine."

Blaine let out a soft "Oh" and sunk to the ground next to Kurt, pinching his trousers (mustard today) up his thighs before folding his legs neatly beneath him.

"So what brings you to school so early on this fine morning?" Blaine asked grandly.

"What brings you to school so early on this astoundingly average morning?" Kurt countered.

Blaine blinked at the quick retaliation. "Um, I had homework I wanted to get done in the library before classes."

"Isn't someone keen."

Blaine shrugged. "I'm used to working hard, I suppose. I guess that's what private school does to you."

Kurt whistled. "Oooh, fancy. Private school. So many things suddenly make sense."

Blaine eyed him warily. "Like what?"

Kurt looked at him incredulously before pointedly running his gaze down Blaine. Blaine glanced down at himself. He was wearing leather boat shoes, mustard pants and black ralph lauren polo with aviators slotted in down the front. A fine knit cardigan was slung through the shoulder strap of his messenger bag, which was spilling large and most definitely extra-curricular looking textbooks onto the asphalt. He had a neat side part, his hair over-zealously gelled down into submission and a smooth freshly shaven face.

"Private school has nothing to do with it," Blaine sniffed. "I just like to look nicely turned out."

"If you say so," Kurt smirked.

"I do," Blaine said with a decisive nod. "But you didn't answer my question. Why are_ you_ here so early?"

"Well," Kurt's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "I had homework I wanted to get done before classes."

Blaine huffed out a laugh. "Of course you did. It's clearly going well. I can see you're knuckling down with that really hard right now."

"I'm just taking a quick break," the corners of Kurt's eyes crinkled in mirth. "You caught me at a bad time."

"Is that right?" Blaine shook his head in amusement.

"Yeah, well firstly I tried to take my cigarette break in the library, but it turns out they aren't huge fans of fire when surrounded by large quantities of combustible material. Who knew? Actually, I don't think they're fans of smoking at all. Or me," he shook his head with an exaggerated sadness. "They're a very judgemental bunch, librarians."

"Judgmental or...concerned for your health and the safety of others in the school?" Blaine said tentatively. "One of the two, for sure. Anyway. You are an excellent question avoider. That's twice you've avoided answering the same question."

Kurt just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Urgh," Blaine sighed. "Fine. It's been a pleasure talking to you, even if you have become Mr Enigmatic and Mysterious," he got to his feet and gathered up his bag. "I'm going to go face those judgemental librarians now. Wish me luck!"

Kurt watched from his spot on the floor as Blaine gave him a jaunty salute and sauntered off across the parking lot towards the entrance to the school, leaving him feeling ten times lighter than when he had left the house that morning.

* * *

**A/N: Sigh. I messed up the update schedule. I'm going on holiday (or 'vacation' as some of you crazy cats like the call it) tomorrow, so no more updates this week. Probably not until late next week now. I thought I'd give you this chapter before I leave so I can warn you about the teeny-tiny hiatus. Sorry folks.**

**But hopefully when I come back I'll be rejuvenated and have chapters sprouting out all over the place. You never know...**

**(Just FYI I still have 3 more chapters written and ready to rumble, so we should be straight back to the old 2 chapters a week as soon as I get back.)**


	6. Chapter 6

That afternoon, Blaine sat on the top riser in the choir room, ankles crossed primly beneath him. By his side, Tina and Mike were in an apparent effort to occupy only one chair between the two of them, limbs tangled hopelessly as they tried to consume one another's faces. It grossed Blaine out a little: he was all for affection and love, but there was a_ line_ (and, he thought, they were so far over the line it was but a pin-prick in the distance to them).

Sectionals were a mere two weeks away, and no one had even mentioned them yet. Blaine was beginning to consider warning Mr Shue about it. He wasn't sure if their teacher had even remembered it was _happening,_ let alone whether he had started to put together some kind of setlist. Blaine had some ideas he wanted to put forward to the group, but he wasn't sure if his input would be hugely appreciated. Especially after the weird vendetta Finn had seemed to have developed against him. Blaine had made it clear many times that he was, in fact, just there to have fun and sing and perform and make new friends. He didn't care for solos or ball hogging. He had thought he was done with ludicrous Intra-Club Politics when he had left the Warblers, but unfortunately he had been sorely mistaken.

After his initial welcome into the group he had struggled to fit in properly. On their own, he got along well with most of them. Tina was lovely. They shared many of the same classes, both being juniors, and regularly studied together. Rachel had her moments – they both had an intense passion for musical theatre and performing (although Blaine thought he was maybe a bit more rational about it). And Mike was great, he could muck around with him like he could with some of the Warblers. It didn't hurt that Mike quite often pulled off his shirt after dance practice to cool off. And then stretched. Shirtless. (And really, Blaine thought, Mike was happily putting it out there – it would be rude _not_ to look.)

No, the problems came when they were all together. They all had their strict roles within the club. Even if they complained about not getting solos (which they did – daily), at the end of the day they were a unit, and Blaine still felt like an outsider. He didn't know where his place was.

"Blaine!"

"Huh, what?" Blaine blinked, brought out of his daze.

"Dude, pay attention," Finn reprimanded. "If we don't do well this year it will because people like you aren't listening, because you aren't being part of the team. This isn't Dalton, you know. You can't just turn up when you want and expect us to side step behind you while you sing some girly pop song."

A wave of frustration rolled over Blaine. He squirmed slightly in his seat, hands subconsciously clenching into fists in his lap. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Forced himself to rise above it. His fingers flexed tensely along the top of his thighs, twitching and fidgeting, itching to do _something_.

He held Finn's gaze, and then pointedly swept his eyes around the room. He was not the only one not giving their full attention by any stretch of the imagination.

Mike and Tina were still thoroughly absorbed in each other's tonsils, Brittany was colouring in a textbook, Santana watching her closely with her head resting on her shoulder, Artie was having some kind of rap off with Sam, Mercedes was flicking through a magazine and Puck was… actually where was Puck? He was nowhere to be seen. Probably off with some 'hot-ass chick'.

He looked back at Finn and raised an eyebrow. If he could somehow convey just a smidge of the derision Kurt managed to lock into his facial expressions Finn would surely be quaking in his converse and let this one go.

Unfortunately, Blaine's attempt didn't seem to have quite the same devastating effect.

"Well, whatever. I'm the leader of this club and you are new here," Finn said. "You need to catch up. So yeah, pay attention."

No-one else spoke. Blaine withdrew back in his chair, pulling away as much as he could.

"All right, everyone," Mr Shue called out, clapping his hands to break the silence. "I think that's it for today. See you guys tomorrow."

Blaine grabbed his bag and waved vaguely over his shoulder as he rushed out of the room. Why did no-one call Finn out? He thought that New Directions was supposed to be a family. That was what they preached anyway - even if there was no actual evidence of the fact._ Why couldn't he be accepted just for once?_

He practically flew to the parking lot, a bubble of suppressed emotion threatening to burst at any moment.

He spotted the familiar lithe form of Kurt leaning casually against his car. His body flooded with warmth and his stomach swooped pleasantly.

"Hello again," he said, once he was within hearing distance.

"Hey," Kurt smiled a little unsurely at him.

Blaine beamed back, all Glee problems slipping easily to the back of his mind. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."

"Like what?"

"Like, you're always lurking around. You're a professional lurker, Kurt."

"It's not my fault if you keep turning up just where I happen to be," Kurt grumbled. But Blaine could tell (his heart skipped a beat when he realised he was beginning to read Kurt a little better) that Kurt was teasing him. Blaine could see a slight twinkle in Kurt's eye that was enchanting. He wanted to make that happen more often.

"Kurt."

"Hm?"

"You're leaning on my car. It's not some great coincidence if I turn up."

"This is your car?" Kurt said, pushing himself forward off the door and looking back at it as he feigned shock. "Well, what a stroke of luck. I had no idea."

"Sure you didn't." Blaine shook his head in amusement, eyes crinkling in amusement. "I guess you're not here for any particular reason, but just _because_ again, right?"

"Right."

"You should join an after-school club or something to waste your time better than just hovering around school. Hey, you like music, right? You should join Glee."

Kurt raised his eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry I think you must've mistaken me for someone else. When exactly did you get the impression that I would enjoy bouncing around on stage like a bunny on steroids?"

"So…no?"

"_Fuck_ no, Blaine," he said emphatically.

"Alright, alright," he said, raising his hands in defeat. "Point made. I just thought it would be fun," he pouted a little, turning his best puppy-dog eyes at Kurt.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "That's not going to work."

"Shame," Blaine grinned again. "I like your jacket by the way. I don't think I mentioned it this morning."

"Complimenting me isn't going to make me join either."

"No, I know that. I was genuinely admiring your jacket."

"Oh," Kurt said quietly, running his fingers over the soft leather of his sleeves. "Thank you."

"I've always loved leather jackets. I don't think I could pull one off though."

"Of course you could; anyone can," Kurt said, still absentmindedly trailing a hand across his jacket. "You do have to find the right one for you, though. It might take a long time for you to find it, but once you do, it's so worth it and will stay with you for life."

Blaine looked fascinated. "Where did you get yours?"

"I inherited it," Kurt said shortly.

"Cool," Blaine smiled encouragingly at him. "I love all that stuff. I have loads of old cameras that I've inherited and collected for ages. I don't know why, but I find it really comforting that there is a history of people cherishing and loving these objects and I have been trusted to carry that on. It's like-, I don't know, this is going to sound ridiculous, but it's like_ I_ don't own _them_ but almost that they have simply chosen me to take care of them for a while." He paused. "That's really weird, isn't it?"

"Yes. Definitely weird." Kurt smirked at him. Blaine ducked his head in embarrassment, a flush spreading up his neck. _Oversharing once again, Blaine. Well done you._ "But I think that too," Kurt added, his smirk softening into a shy smile. Blaine lifted his eyes to meet Kurt's. The twinkle was still there. And, Blaine considered, it probably always was there. It was just that Kurt managed to hide it so well under his perfectly constructed glaze of indifference that sometimes it was hard to see.

As it was now, in fact. Kurt's expression had clouded over, his eyes refocusing sharply on a spot behind Blaine. He twisted around quickly in alarm. The rest of Glee Club was now coming out of the school.

Blaine saw Finn catch sight of them from across the parking lot and start to stalk towards them. What now? What could he have _possibly_ done to upset him in the five minutes he had been out here?

"Dude!" Finn shouted.

"Oh_ fuck_," Kurt bit out.

"What?" Blaine asked.

_"Fuck._ She is such a fucking little _snitch_, oh my _God_."

"_What?_" Blaine asked desperately.

"Oh, um, nothing._ Fuck_. I'll see you tomorrow? You can go home. This is for me."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked sceptically. "He's not a huge fan of mine."

Kurt eyes never left the hulking figure lumbering across the lot towards them. "Trust me," he said flatly. "This is about me."

Blaine still hesitated. Finn looked absolutely livid. He couldn't just leave Kurt here with him. But before he could make a decision Finn was right there.

Finn grabbed the front of Kurt's shirt and flung him up against Blaine's car. Well, that took the option of driving away out of the equation at least.

One more millisecond of hesitation. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run, pricking with the all-too familiar memories. Except usually _he_ was the one being pressed back, the one with the air being knocked out of him completely.

But this time it wasn't him. It was Kurt.

Kurt.

Blaine surged forward into action and pushed back at Finn's chest, managing to wedge himself between the pair of them. _Finally the boxing pays off_, he thought grimly as he forcefully shoved Finn back away from the car. He could feel Kurt's chest heaving behind him and quickly stepped forward.

Finn made to go at Kurt again but Blaine got in the way, forcing him back once more.

"Finn, what the _fuck_?" Kurt spat out from behind him.

"You know exactly what! My mom was just trying to be nice and you were like some spoiled little princess. You don't get to be a bitch to her. _You don't get to treat her like that!"_

Finn lunged again, but Blaine was still there. He could almost feel the waves of animosity rolling off Kurt from behind him and braced himself. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"You have to apologise to her," Finn demanded. Blaine kept a warning hand up, keeping the distance between the two. They both ignored him, glaring at each other over his head.

"I'm_ sorry_ your mommy came crying to you about me. But that's all I will apologise for. If she can't handle a seventeen year old then that's not my problem."

"How _dare_ you?" Finn snarled.

"Quite easily actually."

Finn took a step towards Kurt, leaning in. "You want me to tell Burt exactly where you are Quinn go all the time? She told me, you know. She told me what you do. She told me all about your adventures in New York last summer. The weed and the sex and how_ easy_ you are. Does he even know you went to New York? I doubt it. Me and Burt are quite close, you know. We've been to a couple of games together. He would listen to me. He always listens to me."

Blaine felt Kurt freeze behind him.

"You won't tell him," Kurt said with a voice that could cut glass. "Because if you do, I might_ accidentally_ let slip to your mom_ and_ my dad exactly what you and your Neanderthal football buddies did to me in freshman year."

Finn's eyes widened slightly in shock but then tried to fake nonchalance. "She already knows."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely doubt she knows all of it."

They stared at each other out with narrowed eyes. Blaine stepped back when they didn't move or speak again, flicking his gaze from Finn to Kurt and back again, trying to gauge the situation.

Eventually Finn nodded, tearing his eyes from where they had been locked with Kurt's. He cast Blaine a parting look of derision before he slunk off back across the lot.

Blaine watched Finn walk away and get into his car, pulling away from the school with a roar of the engine. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. He glanced around at Kurt. He was brushing off his clothes carefully, obscuring his face from Blaine.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked carefully, peering around to try to see Kurt's face.

"I'm fine," came a muffled voice. "I could have handled that. I didn't need you to 'save me' or whatever."

"I know," Blaine said gently. "I just hoped I could help in some way. I have no idea what just happened, but it sounded horrible."

"Yeah, well," Kurt laughed bitterly. "If you're going to be hanging around with me you have to get used to that kind of stuff. If you can't handle it, then you can just fuck off to wherever it was you came from."

Blaine didn't even flinch. "Do you want a lift home? You don't have a car, right?"

Kurt blinked at him. "Um. It's just around the corner. I can just walk."

"If it's just around the corner it's no problem to drop you off." Blaine smiled as he put a hand on Kurt's back, pushing him back towards the car. "Come on."

* * *

When Kurt opened the front door, Burt was already stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Kurt paused in the threshold, weighing up his options. Unfortunately, they were not numerous._ Great_, apparently this day was not already done with shitting on him. His shoulders slumped in resignation as he shuffled into the hall, slowly closing the door behind him.

"Good day at school?"

Kurt grunted a semblance of a reply.

"Who was that who dropped you off?"

"A person."

"Well gee, I'm overwhelmed," he deadpanned. "I don't know what to do with all this information you're giving me."

Kurt grimaced at him. "You're really hilarious. That, for your information, was Blaine. He's new this year."

Burt nodded. "Alright. I'm glad you're making new friends." Kurt made a face at him. "So, about yesterday," he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. "I said we would talk about it and whatdoyaknow?" He spread his arms. "Here I am. Ready to talk about it. I figured sooner rather than later is better."

"Tomorrow," Kurt said evasively with a flick of his hand. "I've got stuff to do." He got one foot on the stairs before Burt stepped forward and grasped his shoulder.

"Like hell you have. We're doing this right now," Burt said firmly, steering him out of the hall and through to the kitchen. Kurt shrugged him off as soon as he loosened his grip slightly and darted out of the back door onto the deck. There was no way he could do this without a smoke.

He flicked at his lighter, protecting the cigarette from the wind with a cupped hand as he deftly lit it up. He inhaled deeply and sank down to sit on the steps, arms winding around his tucked up legs.

"Not under my roof, Kurt," his father's voice came from behind him. "You know the rules."

Kurt exhaled heavily and pushed himself to his feet before sauntering away from the steps and out of the cover of the roof jutting out over the deck. He turned back to face Burt, raising a challenging eyebrow as he took a slow drag on his cigarette.

"Kurt," Burt sighed wearily. "You know what I mean. Put it out."

Kurt took a couple more long puffs and then casually flicked the unfinished cigarette to the ground. They both watched as it glowed brightly against the stone path and began to flicker in the cool evening air. Burt walked down the steps and ground it out under his boot.

"So," Burt began without any more delay, looking across to Kurt. "What was that yesterday?"

"I've said everything I want to say about it."

"You may have said everything you want to say about it, but that doesn't mean you've said everything you will say about it," Burt said adamantly.

Kurt groaned. _Why didn't he get the fucking clue?_ "But there is literally nothing else to say. I don't even care anymore. Do what you want."

Burt sighed, casting his eyes around the yard. He quickly moved on to a different tack. "I wasn't trying to play games, or 'pretending to be happy families' as you put it. I really just wanted us to all sit down and talk. Carole wants to get to know you. She didn't deserve the way you treated her."

"I didn't treat her in any way," Kurt said dismissively, as he settled back into his previous position curled up on the steps.

"Yes you did. You were childish and rude when she was asking you decent questions."

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, tightening his arms around his knees. "Whatever."

"Kurt. Grow up. You're nearly eighteen for Christ's sake_. Talk_ to me."

"Why are you so keen on talking all of a sudden?" Kurt asked mildly, picking at the rubber on his boots. "We've barely spoken a word to each other for four years and we got on just fine."

Burt rubbed at the back of his neck, searching for the words. "Son, being with Carole has made me realise that actually no, we don't get on just fine. We need to start properly talking to each other," He took a step towards him and then paused, as if unsure of how much to push Kurt. "She knows exactly what's going on in Finn's life. I have no idea what you get up to. Like that thing you said yesterday about boyfriends? We should talk about that stuff."

"Nah, I'm good actually," Kurt yawned, stretching out his arms above his head and got to his feet. "Thanks for the offer though," he added sarcastically.

"Nope. No running away," Burt said firmly. "That was not an offer. That was a statement. We are _going_ to talk about it."

"Must we?" Kurt asked disinterestedly.

"Yes, Kurt, we must. I get that it's my fault that we've never had this conversation, but damn it, we are having it now," Burt ran a frustrated hand over his forehead before clearing his throat and biting the bullet. "Have you been fooling around with guys?"

Kurt refused to meet his eyes, staring out over the backyard instead as the heat rose in his face.

He shrugged. "Sure."

"When? Where?"

"Sometimes me and Quinn go to Columbus," he said impassively. "Sometimes I go to Scandals. I meet people there."

"You go to _Columbus?_ You travel 100 miles to-. Christ, Kurt, that's a 4 hour round trip," his father looked staggered. "You have never once told me you're going to Columbus. What if something had happened, huh? You don't know anyone in Columbus."

"There's this modern invention called the_ cell phone_, dad."

"Don't be a smart-ass. Do you know how dangerous what you're doing is? You are a _kid_. I know you like to think you're all grown-up and everything, but you are seventeen, you can't just go to these places. Some of the people there are _bad people_."

"I know what I'm doing. It's fine."

"No, no it's really not," Burt said in disbelief. "So, what do you do? You and Quinn drive to Columbus, or Scandals or wherever, and you use fake IDs to get into bars?" he accused. Kurt remained silent. "You both drink? And then one of you drives home? Come on, you're smarter than that. You've seen the wrecks we get at the garage from drunk drivers. Don't be an idiot."

"We don't usually drive back the same night," Kurt mumbled.

A look of horror flashed across Burt's face. "God, Kurt. Tell me you sleep in the car and don't go to strangers' houses."

Shame was steadily burning a hole in the pit of Kurt's stomach. "Of course I don't go to strangers' houses. I'm not a fucking imbecile."

Burt took a deep steadying breath. "Okay. That's something, I guess." He rubbed at his head again. "Okay. So who are these guys? You find them in bars and just what, throw yourself at them?"

"They're usually throwing themselves at me," Kurt said, smug bravado hiding the stab of hurt at the presumption.

Burt closed his eyes slowly; head hanging so his chin almost rested on his chest. "I thought we had taught you better than this," he said almost inaudibly.

"Better than what? I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm fine. I use protection," Kurt enunciated the word clearly. Burt winced. "It's just a bit of fun. Which is quite hard to find in this fucking hellhole. So you can leave it now. You've done your fatherly duty. Feel free to scuttle off back to the garage or-," he waved a hand in the air. "-Whatever it was you were doing before you felt the need to make a token attempt at parenting me."

Burt just stared at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Almost as if Kurt was a complete stranger to him.

But then, the man stood in front of Kurt was not someone he recognised. He looked old. Older than Kurt had ever seen him. There was scruff around his jaw line, which he could see was now tinged with grey. He looked tired and pallid, the skin heavy around his eyes as it succumbed to the years of hardship. His shoulders were hunched as if braced against the world, his hands wedged deeply into his pockets. He looked so down-trodden.

A far cry from the bright and energetic man Kurt remembered from not so many years ago.

"No more trips to Columbus, no more Scandals," his father said in a low voice. "You can consider yourself grounded."

Kurt blinked at him in disbelief. "For what?" he asked coolly.

"Let's just say it's for a backlog of many things I've let slide over the years. Going to Columbus without my permission for one. Continuing to smoke around the house when I have clearly forbidden it for another. We will be having dinner together every night - not just on Fridays. You will come home straight after school," his voice grew more certain as he added to his list. Kurt's stomach was clenching uncomfortably, his breathing getting more and more ragged. "You will quit smoking. You will watch your tongue. You will be civil to Carole. That's really not asking much, Kurt. You will do your homework properly. You're a smart kid, you could get great grades – hell, you could be great. Stop being so passive in your own life and_ do_ something."

Kurt's stomach was now churning. He felt physically sick. "I won't be able to do anything if you ground me will I?" he muttered, his throat dry.

"There's plenty you can do," Burt said, unfazed. "I suggest starting to go through all the piles of stuff you have in the basement. You never know what you might find. Maybe you'll even rediscover an old love," he added idly.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him. Burt stared innocently back. He knew exactly what Kurt had stashed away down there. Kurt stood abruptly. "Well, this has been just such a super father-son bonding moment, but un_fortunately_ I have to go now." He began to walk across the deck to the house.

"Oh and Kurt," Burt called out after him.

"What?" he asked as he had a hand on the door, desperate to push it open.

"I'm going to put you on the roster at the garage. You can do a couple of hours after school during the week and then one day at the weekend.. No ifs, no buts, no questions. It's happening."

Kurt slammed through the door without another word.

* * *

**A/N: Hola! I'm backkk. **

**I hope you all had a lovely week. ****Thank you for all so much for the reads, alerts, reviews and favourites by the way. I really love to know what you guys are thinking about how it's going. ****(/thinly veiled attempt at getting reviews)**

**So. A slightly longer chapter this time. I think for the most part they will be staying around this length. It appears as I get more into this story and these characters that Kurt and Blaine won't shut up. It feels much better this way anyway. Much more flowing and natural. **

**Anyway. Thanks for reading and I'll see you on Sunday. Toodles for now x**


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt sat on the top step of the bleachers, staring out blankly at the empty pitch. The rough grass glistened with moisture in the dim floodlights, the recent rain still clinging to each blade. Kurt was hunched over around a cigarette, huddling against the back railings with his knees brought up to his chest, trying to hold in as much warmth as he could. He rested his chin on his knee and wrapped his arms around his ankles, trying to draw his jacket around his legs as much as possible.

The night was drawing in and the cold clawed relentlessly at Kurt's thin jacket. He knew he couldn't keep this up much longer; he needed somewhere new, somewhere warm to go to get away.

Kurt reached for his phone, shifting his weight slightly to one side to glance at the time before slipping it back into his jeans. _6.31pm_. His father was expecting him at the garage hours ago for his first shift. Kurt had no intention of going anywhere.

There were no new messages, no calls; nothing. His cell phone stayed stubbornly quiet and dark in his pocket. Going by his father's behaviour over the past few days he had expected a million angry texts and missed calls by now.

His father no longer left for work early, instead choosing to lay out breakfast for the both of them each morning. When Kurt would shuffle blearily downstairs in the morning, sleep clouding his vision, there would be a pot of coffee on the side and a neat row of cereals lying out on the table. His dad would call out a cheery greeting from behind a paper, or over his shoulder from where he was leaning against the counter going over the accounts. A full jug of milk, a stack of still-warm toast, a well-supplied bowl of fruit.

Kurt usually silently grabbed a mug of coffee and took it straight back upstairs with him, ignoring his father's attempts at conversation completely. But so far his father had remained undeterred, each morning it was spread out exactly the same.

It was like his father had been asleep for the past few years and had now woken up. Kurt was hoping _(praying_) it was just a phase. And judging by the lack of complaints about Kurt missing his shift, maybe, just maybe he had already fallen back into listless unconsciousness.

Kurt's head whipped up when he heard the ringing of footsteps on the metal below. He blinked rapidly to clear the sheen that had glazed over his eyes as he had stared aimlessly out at the night. A familiar head of pink hair was bowed against the wind, bobbing up the steps towards him.

Quinn settled down next to him on the cold bench, drawing her scarf tightly around her.

"Hey," he grunted in greeting around the cigarette wedged between his lips. He pinched it between his fingers and exhaled into the wind, the smoke making his eyes water as it blew back in his face.

"Where have you been lately?" he asked hoarsely, still blinking rapidly as his eyes burned. "I haven't seen you around as much."

"I've been here. It's you who hasn't."

"Quinn. You're always here. Well," he amended. "Either here or off with those wannabe 'skanks' or whatever you like to call yourselves. Where the hell else could you have been?"

She remained silent, staring off into the drizzle. He groaned in realisation. "Don't tell me you're off talking to Puckerman again."

"I...maybe," she admitted quietly.

"Oh, come_ on_ Quinn," he bit out. "The guy's an asshole. Just move on already."

"Fuck off, Kurt," she shot back, immediately on the defensive. "You're just jealous."

Kurt scoffed. "What could I possibly be jealous of? A guy gets you pregnant, lets you believe someone else was the father-," he counted out the list on his fingers. "-Ignores you for like, a year, and then randomly starts stalking you and harassing you to get to talk to him," he waved the hand in her face. "Oh yeah Quinn, I'm really fucking jealous. I want to get me some of that."

"It's not like that," she insisted.

"Okay then, Quinn," he said patronisingly, sneering slightly at her. "Tell me what it's like."

"He's changed. I really believe he's changed. He's not harassing me, he's being friendly. You just don't recognise what friendly is."

He snorted and rolled his eyes in derision. "…If that was supposed to be an insult, it was fucking terrible."

"What is up with you today? You're being all kinds of extra bitchy."

He growled in frustration. "If you call me a bitch one more time, Quinn...I _swear._"

"You swear what?!" She threw up both her hands, turning to him. "You couldn't, _wouldn't,_ dare do anything to me!"

She was looking at him challengingly through narrowed eyes. He took a deep, calming breath. "I could-, oh, I don't know-" he said breezily, waving his cigarette lazily in the air. "I could tell everyone the reason you went to New York last summer."

She froze, the sneer dropping from her face. "I know you wouldn't do that," she said quietly.

"Do you? I thought I knew you wouldn't be chatting to other people about me, but hey, I guess people can always surprise you," he said coolly.

"What do you mean?" she asked uneasily.

"I mean that I had a lovely 'talk' with Finn the other day." She glanced at him with her wide pale eyes. "Oh yeah," he nodded. "He said he knew _all about_ last summer. And you know what, you can say what you want about me to other people, but not Finn."

"Why not Finn?" she asked curiously.

"Because the universe is having some great fucking joke where my dad and his mom are apparently a 'thing'. And despite the fact that he struggles to string words together to form coherent sentences, he seems to have managed to manipulate my dad into listening to him. So I'd appreciate it if he didn't know what may or may not have happened in New York. I'd rather he didn't know _anything_ about New York, in fact."

She didn't respond, deep in thought as she studied the floor below her feet carefully, leaning forward on straight arms with her fingers curled around the edge of the cool metal bench.

"So apparently," he went on. "You've been quite the chatterbox recently - Finn, then Puck - _all_ your old crew. Why don't you just be done with it and go back to Glee Club where you clearly belong?"

Her expression softened into something that looked almost like...pity. His gut twisted uncomfortably. "Kurt, they've all really changed. I know they all want to talk to you about what happened."

"You do, huh?" Kurt snorted. "They tell you that they wanna be best buddies, did they?"

"Well, not in so many words-"

"Don't be so fucking naive, Quinn," he said sharply. "They haven't changed. They never will. They only want to talk to you because they need you to make up numbers in their shitty glee club. So just go back to them where you so clearly want to be and leave me alone."

She didn't move a muscle, her face still soft and irritating understanding. "Kurt, I still want to be your friend. We've stuck together this last year. Maybe if you just talked to me about-"

He held up a hand to stop her, anger bubbling through his veins. "Don't you dare preach to me about talking about your feelings. Don't go all righteous on me."

She leaned in to him. "I'm just saying," she said gently, resting a hand on his arm. "That talking to Noah has really helped me get some closure on a lot of things."

He shrugged off her hand, glaring out into the now pitch dark. He couldn't help but feel slightly betrayed. He knew he was probably supposed to be pleased for her. He was supposed to feel happy that she had sorted her shit out, or 'got some closure' or whatever. But she had done it without him. It wasn't fair that she could just turn up one day and tell him she was fixed and put back together when he had never felt more broken apart.

He jutted out his chin. "So now you're magically healed you don't have to stick with me. Off you pop," he dismissed her with a flick of his hands.

"Kurt," she pleaded, even quieter than before. "Please just tell me what they did to you and then maybe-"

"No," he forced out. "It won't achieve anything. Let it go."

She continued to consider him, her green eyes searching his face. "Fine," she sighed. "Consider it let go. I just want to help."

"Well," Kurt said flatly. "Don't."

They lapsed into a familiar silence. Quinn settled back next to him on the railings "You mind if I sit here for a while?" she asked a little warily.

"Fine. Just, enough with the talking."

She nodded and curled up on herself next to him.

* * *

Blaine went a couple of days without seeing Kurt at all. He had already noticed that Kurt seemed to have some sort of ninja skills for slipping through the halls completely unseen, but he had started getting used to their little conversations by his car. Had started hoping that maybe this could be their 'thing'. That this could maybe spread into more 'things' for them.

And then suddenly he wasn't there anymore.

And they weren't even friends, not really. They had no classes together, he had never seen him at lunch and wasn't in any clubs or extracurriculars. There was nothing he could do to find him. He didn't even have his number.

All he could do was wait for Kurt come to him.

Blaine tried to push him to the back of his mind, tried not to scan the hallways with a sweeping eye hoping for a glimpse of multi-coloured hair or the glint of a reflection from a piercing. He had noticed Quinn in the corridors, now either alone or with Puck, never accompanied by the tall figure Blaine had been used to seeing her with.

So it was with a great flood of relief that he spotted Kurt leaning nonchalantly back against his car less than a week later, as if he belonged there. As if he had always been there.

"Hi, Lurky McLurkisson. Fancy seeing you here," Blaine said as he made his way over to his car a couple of days later.

Kurt nodded a greeting, a brief smile flitting across his lips. "Hi, Blaine."

Blaine walked up to him, grinning at him with his head on one side. "Where have you been the last few days? I haven't seen you around."

Kurt pushed himself off from the car with a huff. "I've been here."

"Here?"

"Well not right here," Kurt said with a roll of his eyes. "I haven't been camped out in your car for a week. I mean I've been at school as usual.

"Oh." He blinked. "Sorry, I tried to find you but you're very elusive."

Kurt looked at him steadily. "Sometimes I don't want to be found."

Blaine shifted on his feet but held his gaze, trying to figure out what Kurt meant. Did Kurt want Blaine to stop looking for him or was there something that Blaine wasn't getting? But Kurt was the one who kept turning up to see _him._ Why?

"So, I've was thinking," he began searchingly. "About this whole 'lurking' scenario."

"This sounds ominous," Kurt said, narrowing his eyes at him.

"It's not bad! I promise!" he insisted. Kurt continued to look at him sceptically, an eyebrow raised. "So, we should go and get coffee or something. Maybe even," he leaned in conspiratorially. "-leave the confines of this great educational establishment. As lovely as it is meeting by my car, we could try changing it up a little."

"Kinky," Kurt said dryly.

Blaine flushed right up to his ears. "Um. No. No, that-. I meant we could meet in different places."

Kurt smirked at him. "I know, Blaine."

"Right. Right, well," Blaine rubbed at the back of his neck before gesturing to him. "Like, where do you go for lunch? I don't think I've ever seen you in the dining hall."

"Quinn and I usually eat outside somewhere."

"Ah. Well, maybe we could all sit together sometime?"

Kurt hummed in vague agreement. "Yeah, maybe."

"But for now, do you want to go for coffee?"

"I can't today."

"Oh, well maybe tomorrow?" he tried hopefully.

"I can't do tomorrow either."

"Oh," Blaine attempted not to look too disappointed. "It's…fine. Maybe another time."

"I can't though."

"It's okay, don't worry about it."

"No, I literally mean_ I can't."_ Kurt jabbed a foot against the tarmac as he hung his head, the heat in his cheeks rising. "I'm grounded," he mumbled.

"You're…grounded?" Blaine repeated, biting back the smile threatening to spread across his face.

Kurt nodded into his chest, long graceful fingers playing nervously with one of his ear piercings.

"Oh wow," Blaine chuckled under his breath. "That's…oh wow. Don't be offended but you don't strike me as the type to actually pay attention to authority. I'm surprised being grounded even registers on your radar."

"I…may have tried skipping earlier in the week. Didn't go so well for me."

"No?"

"No," Kurt said flatly. "Really, really not."

"Huh," Blaine scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Dare I ask what happened?"

"My dad, uh," Kurt cleared his throat. "He, well, when I got back like, 4 hours late, I went up to my room and he, had uh, locked my closet. With like, five high security locks." Blaine fought back another smile with somewhat less success. "I couldn't get through any of them," Kurt added sadly.

Kurt looked so crestfallen that his father had thought to buy un-pickable locks that a laugh bubbled up before Blaine could hold it back. "Oh my God. Wow, sorry, talk about hitting you where it hurts."

Kurt scowled at him, his brow crinkled adorably. "Yeah, well. I didn't find it very funny. He said he won't open it until I go do some work for him."

"Oh, well, don't let me keep you any longer then," Blaine backed away. "I wouldn't want to be responsible for keeping you from your clothes."

"It's not just my clothes," he said almost inaudibly. Then in a louder tone, "But actually, about that…" Kurt shuffled awkwardly on the spot. "Iwaswonderinifyoudgimealift," he rushed out in one breath.

"Didn't catch that, sorry Kurt," Blaine said, cupping a hand to his ear.

"I was wondering if you would, um, give me a lift. To my dad's shop. I'm supposed to be there. Soon."

"You dad's shop? He's a mechanic?"

"Yeah," Kurt nodded. "He owns a garage on the other side of town."

"You're a mechanic's son and you don't have a car?"

"I have a car," he said snootily, jutting out his chin. "I just choose not to drive it."

"O-kay," Blaine said hesitantly, storing that away to ask about later. "Well, lucky for you it's a non-Glee day. It would be a pleasure to take you," he sent his most charming smile to Kurt. "Hop in."

He skirted around the car and climbed into the driver's seat while Kurt opened the door of the passenger's side. Blaine leant over quickly to clear the jumble of CDs and sheet music from Kurt's seat, apologising profusely for the mess.

Kurt just shrugged and helped shift the piles of stuff on to the back seats or into the glove compartment. He paused when he picked up one of the CDs, a soft expression passing across his face. Blaine craned his neck as discreetly as he could to try and see the title. It was his copy of the original soundtrack of The Sound of Music.

"Do you know it?" he asked curiously.

Kurt started and looked up at Blaine, his eyes wide and slightly glassy. For a moment he looked so incredibly vulnerable and young. He lowered himself into the seat, still clutching the CD possessively to his chest. He blinked slowly, and just like that his face reset, indifference settling heavily over his features.

He shrugged.

"You can put it on if you want," Blaine offered as he turned the key in the ignition and began to pull out of the school lot.

"No, it's okay. Whatever you were listening to is fine."

Blaine sighed and just let the radio play quietly in the background.

The silence dragged on in the car. Kurt was slouched away from him, the side of his head resting against the cool window. Blaine drove on, occasionally asking Kurt for directions. He only received one word, sometimes monosyllabic, answers.

"I'm confused," he stated eventually. Kurt glanced at him. "Are you trying to be all mysterious and enigmatic or do you just genuinely not want to talk to me? Because the amount of times you have initiated contact between us would say otherwise. You've got to stop shutting down on me."

Kurt just stared at him, expression unchanged.

"Come on, Kurt. Please, just, talk about something. Anything."

Kurt looked away, watching the scenery pass them quickly as they sped through the town. "I…don't know what you want me to talk about," he said quietly. "There's not much to say."

"Okay. Let's start with something easy. You like The Sound of Music?"

Kurt chuckled bitterly. "That is the furthest thing from easy."

"Okay, uh," Blaine wracked his brain for other topics. "Talk me through your outfit today. Maybe my education on your fashion choices can begin right here, right now. Because to me, no offence, but it kind of looks the same as yesterday's. Which, if it were true and I recall correctly, would be a heinous crime."

Kurt glared at him. "Blaine. You're fucking terrible at this. I just told you that my dad locked me out of my closet. Do the math."

Blaine flushed. "Sorry," he mumbled. He was making a complete mess of this.

Kurt shifted around in his chair and stared at Blaine calculatingly. "Blaine?"

"Yes?" he replied tentatively.

"Why did you transfer?"

"Um, well-" he paused. "My parents couldn't afford Dalton anymore?" It sounded weak even to his own ears.

"Bullshit," Kurt said simply. "Why did you really transfer?"

"I don't really…want to go into it right now."

"No?" Kurt asked. "Well then, let's move on. Why did you feel the need to clarify the fact that the bright red liquid on you was slushie and not anything else?"

Blaine opened his mouth and promptly closed it again.

"Exactly," Kurt said. "I'll try something else. Why did you feel the need to come into school at half seven the other morning when you obviously have no need of extra credit or are in danger of getting below an A in anything?"

"I don't think-" he stopped.

Kurt smirked at him, looking smugly across the car at him. "Not so easy is it? Sometimes it's nice not to question everything. Sometimes it's nice to just_ be_, you know?"

Blaine shook his head lightly, but not in disagreement. He twisted his fingers around the steering wheel. "I just want to get to know you," he said softly, flicking his gaze over at Kurt.

"Why?"

Such a simple question. Unfortunately the simplest of questions often warrant the most impossible answers. He replied with a question of his own. "Why do you keep coming to my car?"

"I don't know," Kurt hesitated. He looked as lost as Blaine felt.

"Then why did you help me that day? With the slushie?

"Because you looked so helpless. Anyone could have done it," Kurt dismissed.

"But that's just the point I don't think you get. Anyone_ could,_ but no-one actually _did._ Only one person out of a whole corridor full of people did."

He pulled up into the front parking lot of the garage and turned off the engine, twisting in his seat to look at Kurt properly.

"But it's because you're different, _because_ you're not like the rest of them," he insisted, desperate for Kurt to understand. "For whatever reason, you helped me. And that makes me want to get to know you."

Kurt twisted his hands in his lap, then seemed to force himself to stop. "Okay. But you've got to talk as well. It's got to go both ways."

Blaine quirked a corner of his mouth in teasing amusement. "Kinky."

Kurt whacked him on the arm with a release of tension. "Asshole. And that's an_ incredibly_ tenuous innuendo," he added.

His smile widened into a free grin. "But it is an innuendo nonetheless," he said smartly.

Kurt mouth twitched into a fleeting smile, the elusive twinkle Blaine had only glimpsed a couple of times returning to his eyes.

"Also," Blaine said, "I realised that we haven't even exchanged numbers."

Kurt sighed with a long-suffering roll of his eyes, but reached for his bag and pulled out his phone. "Just as long as you don't expect to be exchanging friendship bracelets or skipping through the fields holding hands any time soon."

He paused.

"I will give you my number."

Kurt refused point blank to be in a photo for Blaine's contacts (he still managed to take a stealthy one when Kurt thought he wasn't trying anymore though), but he was still_ there i_n Blaine's phone. _Progress_.

Blaine opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a sharp knocking on his window. A tall man wearing mechanic's overalls and a cap was standing expectantly outside the car, motioning for Kurt to roll down the window.

Blaine glanced back at Kurt. He seemed to have shut down completely in the millisecond Blaine hadn't been looking at him. Once again, a blank yet tense look overcame his face, washing away all vestiges of openness that Blaine had been revelling in. His body language had changed abruptly; where he had been previously sat relaxed, slightly twisted around to talk to Blaine, he was now rigid and uncomfortable in his seat, hand immediately winding its way through his hair before fiddling at his earring.

Kurt closed his eyes slowly and took a deep breath before opening the window.

"Yes?" he asked flatly.

The man ducked down to the level of the car. "Hey buddy, and -Blaine, I assume?"

Blaine nodded slightly uncertainly, glancing between the two men. "Yes, sir."

Burt leant through the car across Kurt to grasp Blaine's hand. "Burt Hummel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Blaine said politely.

"You should come over sometime. It'd be nice to meet some of Kurt's proper friends."

Kurt was still only looking forward through the windshield at wide gaping doors of the garage. Blaine scanned his face for some kind of signal as to whether he would be welcome or not, but his face was set in an unfathomable mask, no emotion given any chance to escape.

"That would be lovely," Blaine said hesitantly, still searching Kurt's face. He gave no sign of approval or disproval.

Burt nodded and then clapped Kurt on the shoulder. "You gonna get in here sometime today or what?" he said cheerfully. "That closet isn't gonna unlock itself!"

Kurt nodded infinitesimally and silently gathered his things, muttering goodbye to Blaine as he slipped out of the car.

Blaine watched as Kurt slunk away from his father and Blaine, a little relieved that he wasn't the only one Kurt shut down on.

* * *

**A/N:** So I just wanted to adress something that someone has said really quickly. Only one person said it, but I thought about this point a lot before I'd even started writing the whole story so I'm going to expand on it. They said that the Kurt wasn't skanky enough, or that they didn't believe that he reacted in a certain way 'skanky' enough. (That doesn't even make grammatical sense but hopefully you get my drift.) Basically, for this to be a multi-chapter story centred (at least for now) around Kurt, to have him be a completely indifferent superior asshole the whole time is not interesting. At all. There needs to be something more than that. I'm not saying that he is going to turn into the paragon of virtue, or suddenly become completely canon!Kurt, but there needs to be something more lying beneath the surface that causes him to react in different ways than you might expect.

Sorry for the slight rambling. I don't want to pick certain reviews out, I _really_ do appreciate all of them, but I had something to say at it :).

Anyway. Muchas gracias for reviews, reads, follows and favourites yet again. And I don't think I've thanked mrssosostris on here so huge thanks and hugs go to her for her time and thoughts :D :D


	8. Chapter 8

Kurt kept a vigilant pledge of silence for his first shift at the garage. He tugged on his overalls and jammed his headphones over his ears, resolutely ignoring his father's attempts at conversation as he got to work

He had been demoted, that was the reality of it. Demoted to changing tyres. Hundreds upon hundreds of tyres for people too dumb or lazy to learn how to do it themselves. Never mind that he had been forced to spend every Sunday here as a kid when his mom went off to teach her classes. Never mind that until the age of twelve he had been the best goddamn mechanic in this garage _period._ Never mind that there was an apprentice, Hank, who'd been there for three days and yet was already fiddling around inside a hood. Kurt seethed when he saw his father give Hank a pat on the back.

Fuck him.

Fuck them both.

Fuck everything.

After a while he shrugged off the top of his overalls and grabbed his smokes before heading out of the back of the garage and into the parking lot. He sheltered behind one of the other mechanic's trucks and drew long drags on his cigarette, shivering in his thin black t-shirt. He flicked his lighter again and again, warming each hand alternately.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, eyes widening in shock when he saw he had eight unread messages.

_From: Unknown (3.47 pm)_

_Hi it's me! Just so you have me in your contacts too :D_

_From: Unknown (3.49 pm)_

_It's Blaine btw. Just in case you weren't sure :)._

_From: Unknown (3.52 pm)_

_Oh and I forgot to give you your t-shirt back. I'm sorry! It's in my car all nice and clean and ready for you. Next time, I promise._

_From: Unknown (3.56 pm)_

_Not that I'm assuming you'll be in my car anytime soon. I will get it back to you as soon as possible._

_From: Unknown (3.58 pm)_

_But I am happy to give you a lift across to your dad's shop anytime you want._

_From: Unknown (4.01 pm)_

_When it doesn't clash with Glee of course._

_From: Unknown (4.05 pm)_

_I'm so sorry for spamming your texts._

_From: Unknown (4.08 pm)_

_It's important that you know I appreciate the irony of me apologising for sending texts with a text. This is the last one I promise. See you at school! x_

Kurt stared down at his phone in complete bewilderment, flicking back through the texts with his thumb. Eight texts. Eight. He leant back against the car and brought the phone up to eye level, reading them through again and again. He couldn't help but give a little snort at the last text, a small smile curling up around his cigarette as he inwardly rolled his eyes at how very_ Blaine_ it was. Kurt had noticed that Blaine didn't exactly have a particularly well-honed sense of when to shut up in conversation, and that quality apparently applied to all forms of communication.

He couldn't help but linger on the final letter of the final text. He tried not to read too much into it, tried to ignore the heavy thud of his heart in his chest as his eyes tracked the two crossed lines again and again. He knew that that was the common way to end texts, that it was probably not even thought about at all - a slip of the fingers when Blaine forgot who he was talking to.

And yet.

"Kurt?" his father's voice called loudly from the garage. "You out here?"

Kurt shut his phone off and pushed it down into his pocket, a small smile playing around his mouth as he shook his head gently in amusement. He held his cigarette between his lips and walked around the edge of the truck, pulling up his overalls as he went.

His father was leaning out of the back door, a look of resignation on his face as he scanned the lot. He spotted Kurt slipping out from behind the truck and his features immediately set into a firm grimace. "What did I say about smoking, Kurt?"

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, reaching up to pinch the cigarette between two fingers, exhaling slowly as he stared straight at his father.

"Well, you're not coming within ten metres of this garage with that thing," Burt said firmly.

"That really_ is_ a tragedy," Kurt said sarcastically, flicking away the ash from his cigarette. "What _will_ I do with myself?"

"You know the deal. No work means no closet. You choose," Burt said with a sigh and ducked back into the garage, leaving Kurt standing staring at the closed door.

He scuffed his foot angrily against asphalt and trudged back up to the garage, tossing his cigarette over his shoulder as he went.

* * *

Blaine lay face-down and fully clothed on the top of his covers. It had been hours - he had counted them - agonising _hours_ since he had sent that hideous volume of texts to Kurt and he had got absolutely nothing whatsoever in reply.

He had done everything he could to forget, but in the end he just had to accept that yes, he actually did send Kurt eight texts in a row just after Kurt had essentially told him to back off slightly. If he wasn't running for the hills before he certainly would be now.

Blaine had completed all his homework, extra credit work included, and had a look at the upcoming work in his textbooks. A large neat pile of laundry now sat on his armchair in the corner of his room. He had tested a new recipe for dinner, a Greek salad he had been meaning to try out for ages (which turned out to be delicious). He had even been for a run and then had a good session with the punching-bag in the basement.

He had even ironed all his bowties for goodness' sake._ All. Of. Them._

Then, and only then, could he bring himself to check his phone. He had cringed away from it, readying himself for the inevitable "Stop texting me, weirdo" as he pressed the button, only to slump down as he saw the empty screen, partly with relief but mostly with frustration at himself for getting so ridiculously worked up over_ nothing._

He had forced himself to take a shower and calm down, climbing into his comfiest sweats before face-planting onto the bed with a quickly muffled groan.

He turned his head slightly on the covers, revealing his flushed face to the relatively cool air of his bedroom. Reaching out an arm to press the button on the top of his phone one more time, he tilted it towards him on the soft blanket. He sighed. Still nothing.

He placed his phone on the nightstand and slid beneath the covers, curling up tightly with_ The Perks of being a Wallflower._ He could feel his eyes drooping almost immediately, the stupid rush of the past few hours finally catching up with him. Charlie would have to wait another day.

The moment he switched out the light, his phone buzzed energetically on his nightstand, filling the room with white light.

_One message._

He closed his eyes tightly and steeled himself with a grit of his teeth, sliding a finger across the screen.

_From: Kurt (11.23 pm)_

_See you at school._

He stared at it for a moment, squinting at it in the darkness as he repeated the message under his breath with different inflections and intonations. The period seemed awfully finite, and the sentence itself read as very flat, but then again, it didn't seem like Kurt was one to use an abundance of emoticons, and the 'see you at school' meant that Kurt would allow himself to be found at school; that maybe he actually wanted to see Blaine there?

Blaine moaned into his blanket in annoyance. He really needed to stop over-analysing everything.

* * *

The next day, Blaine made sure to keep an eye out for Kurt. For what, though? Was he seriously expecting to get the 'hey so this guy texted me eight times last night and I find it kind of creepy so I would like him to stay away from me' vibe from just seeing him across the hallways?

He needed to turn the crazy down a notch.

He searched him out at lunch, but couldn't find him in any of his usual spots. He eventually thought he would just try the bleachers out on the football field. That seemed an appropriately Kurtish place.

And sure enough, he looked up from the pitch to see Kurt leaning back against the fencing surrounding the top of the bleachers. Blaine dug his hands into the warm pockets of his thick wool cardigan and sprang up the steps, a nervous grin spreading uncontrollably across his face as he went.

Kurt was wearing his gorgeous leather jacket again, this time with a white t-shirt underneath and (unless he was very much mistaken) a woollen McQueen scarf wrapped securely around the pale column of his neck. His tall Doc Martens were tucked up tightly under him, his long legs bent in half with one arm clutching them closely to him.

Blaine bounded up the final few stairs and came to a stop right in front of Kurt. Kurt looked at him, his face set in its usual completely unfathomable expression. Blaine rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet, unsure whether to sit next to him or not. "Hi!"

"Hey," came the short but not unwelcoming reply.

"How are you?"

"Cold. Fine."

Blaine kicked himself for not bringing his jacket with him. "We could go inside if it's too cold?"

Kurt simply held up his cigarette in response.

"There is a simple solution to that problem you know," Blaine teased gently.

"Buy a warmer jacket?" Kurt tried as he sent a fleeting grin at Blaine.

"I was thinking more along the lines of stopping the whole smoking thing. But sure, yours works too."

Kurt's eyes sparkled over at him, and he gestured to the bench next to him. "Sit."

A wave of relief washed over Blaine as he sat down next to Kurt, drawing his cardigan closely around him. "So how was the garage yesterday?"

Kurt shrugged. "Fine, I guess. It's been a while."

"Yeah?" Blaine prompted.

"Yeah." Kurt nodded. "Over four years actually," he added.

"Wow," Blaine whistled. "They must have started you young if you _stopped_ when you were what, like twelve?"

"I had actually just turned thirteen, but yeah."

Blaine considered his next question carefully. He didn't want to scare him off or push him too far in any way. But Kurt seemed relatively relaxed today, leaning back against the fencing. Any previous tension in his body had dissipated and his face was as open as Blaine had ever seen it. And yet Blaine was ever mindful of their conversation in the car yesterday.

"Have you always done that, um, mechanic-y stuff?"

Kurt raised an amused eyebrow. "Mechanic-y stuff?"

"Yeah, um," Blaine smiled self-effacingly. "Sorry I'm not 'down' with the correct terminology. I guess I should be though. My dad tried to get me into cars one summer."

Kurt smirked. "It sounds like it went really well, if you're asking about all the 'mechanic-y stuff' I do."

Blaine grimaced. "No it wasn't the best. I think it was one of his more desperate 'Let's make Blaine straight' plans. I've never shown any interest in cars."

Kurt looked over at him with a strangely soft expression in his eyes. "I'm sorry your dad's an asshole."

Blaine laughed and was pleased to hear it didn't come across as completely bitter. "Thanks. I got over it."

Kurt continued to look at him appraisingly. "Still."

"It's okay," he said with a shrug. "It was a long time ago."

Kurt hummed noncommittally and they lapsed into silence. A silence that Kurt seemed completely content with, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the fencing. Blaine glanced at him. His face was relaxed, chin tipped up towards the sky, pale skin almost glowing in the reflections from the weak sun. He had turned up the collar of his leather jacket against the chill, the edge of it brushing against the short tendrils of hair at the nape of his neck.

"Blaine?"

Blaine looked back up at him. "Yes?"

"Stop," Kurt said firmly, without opening his eyes.

"Um," Blaine started, completely nonplussed. "Stop what?" As far as he was aware they were both doing absolutely nothing.

Kurt breathed loudly out through his nose and pulled his head forward from where it had been leaned back against the fence to send a level glare at Blaine. "Stop," he waved a hand at him. "-that."

Blaine blinked at him in confusion. "I'm sorry, Kurt, you're going to have to be more specific."

Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Stop with the jiggling and the tapping and all the constant fidgeting you seem to do."

"Oh." Blaine stilled his limbs with a faint flush to his cheeks. "Sorry? I didn't realise that I was doing it." His fingers twitched against his thigh even as he spoke, itching to continue tapping out the rhythm to his internal beat.

Kurt didn't say anything, but just settled back, his eyelids fluttering closed once more.

"Kurt?"

Another deep sigh. "What?"

"Can I just ask you one question that's kind of been bothering me? I promise we can get back to the 'just being' or whatever you want straight after."

Kurt waved a hand at him. "Go on," he said imperiously.

"Is the thing with Finn the other day, like, is that okay?" he asked cautiously. "Because he kind of had you pinned against the door. Is he going to do that again?"

Kurt shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line. "I have too much on him now. He's not going to do anything else."

"Are you sure? He's kind of...unpredictable and scary."

Kurt chuckled darkly. "Oh Blaine, you're only a few years late with your concerns. Finn's a fucking asshole, but it's fine now. His mom is dating my dad." Blaine made a small noise of surprise. "Oh I _know_," Kurt nodded emphatically. "It's a fucking nightmare but at least he's too scared of what I can tell his mom that he won't dare do anything else."

"Well," Blaine said hesitantly, "If you're sure."

"Blaine," Kurt said shortly, "As I said that day, I can look after myself."

"I know, I know," Blaine placated. "It's just...he's really tall. And big and strong and did I mention tall?"

Kurt snorted. "It's really fine."

"Alright then," Blaine smiled across at Kurt. Kurt rolled his eyes at him with what Blaine liked to think was fond exasperation and settled back once more.

Soon after that they fell into a pattern, taking lunch together most days.

Sometimes they were joined by Quinn, but more often than not it was just the two of them. Blaine had to track him down each lunchtime, and he gradually got to know the places Kurt liked to hang out. The bleachers, the courtyard, out on the grass by the parking lot… always outside. Lunch for Kurt, it seemed to Blaine, was not complete without a healthy serving of good old nicotine. And, Blaine puffed out his chest a bit in pride, he had refrained from mentioning his thoughts on that particular habit again. As good as Kurt looked languidly dragging on a cigarette - and boy, did he look good – after much consideration he had decided that the potential health risks far outweighed the aesthetics for Blaine. And yes, he had given it a lot of thought. At least the exposure to the cold meant that he could justify investing in more scarves. One could never have too many scarves.

The only downside to this new arrangement was that he suddenly incurred the wrath of the whole Glee Club, not just Finn. He avoided the glares from their table if he had to pass them in the search for Kurt, but caught the just loud enough passive-aggressive remarks from Finn about "certain people not even trying to fit in with the group." It made Glee increasingly uncomfortable. Certain people, like Tina and Mike, were still incredibly sweet to him. But Rachel and Finn and a couple of others were becoming convinced he was just there to sabotage them - apparently him being at McKinley was all part of an 'elaborate Warblers' plot'.

Blaine barely noticed as sectionals came and went; it made no difference, after all, if he was singing back-up in the choir room to two people or to an auditorium of hundreds. Finn had made absolutely sure that he didn't even get so much as a solo line, saying that 'solos are for people who are actually part of the club, not just hangers on'. Blaine seethed quietly in his seat, refusing to stoop to his level. He had never once missed a Glee practice, had never done anything to make the New Directions think he didn't want to be a part of their group, and yet they didn't accept him. He was still being kept at arms length.

But it was worth it.

In fact, it was worth it ten times over for each crinkle of Kurt's brow in amusement for something Blaine had said or done, for each small twitch of the lips upwards or twinkle in his eye.

But Blaine had so many questions he had to almost physically restrain himself from bombarding Kurt with them. He didn't like to think of Kurt as a horse that he didn't want to spook, but sometimes it felt that way. Kurt was extremely edgy - not just in the cool hipster way (which he definitely was) but also in the 'say one wrong thing and I am leaving and not coming back' way.

When Quinn was with them she hardly ever said anything. She just sat there, watching. Blaine didn't really understand Kurt and Quinn's relationship very well. They hardly ever spoke to each other, and when they did every other word was a curse word, but they both seemed to be happy with this arrangement. Blaine had seen Quinn a little outside of her relationship with Kurt, and she had been much chattier then, much more open. But he didn't want to pry. Well, not overwhelmingly so, anyway.

One afternoon a week or so after sectionals, Blaine walked slowly to his car, bumping into people left, right and centre as the vast majority of the student population made their bid for freedom. There was no Glee practice today and he had little to no desire to go home spend extra time in his empty house, so he was weighing up his options. He was just thinking of maybe heading down to the library or perhaps the music shop when he spotted Kurt leaning against his car.

Smiling, he made his way over to him. "To what do I owe this great honour?" Blaine asked with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Kurt smiled tightly in greeting. "It appears my beloved father has been 'enlightened' on the true meaning of parenthood and has thus decided that we need to bond," he said sardonically.

"Okay?" Blaine said questioningly, not sure of where he fit into this.

"And apparently bonding with me involves you. Coming over to the house." Kurt tugged anxiously on the stud in his ear. "If you want? Um, you don't have to, if that would be weird or you know, if you don't want to be exposed to severely awkward familial dynamics."

"Are you inviting me over to your house?" Blaine asked searchingly, needing to construe Kurt's exact request.

"Yeah," Kurt clarified. "But feel free to say no. Fuck knows I would."

"That would be great," Blaine said with an easy smile. "I was just wondering what I was going to do this afternoon."

Kurt nodded jerkily. Blaine opened the car door and ushered him in, skirting around the hood of the car before pulling out of the school and driving the short distance around the corner to Kurt's house.

* * *

**A/N: I can only apologise. I am so, so sorry. There are certain RL excuses that no-one really cares about but the crux of the matter is I lost the thread of this story. I hated what I had already written for this chapter, so I decided not to give you guys a sub-standard chapter but wait it out. And I am so excited now for the rest of the story gnhrogntrognhruwg. Seriously.**

**Anyway, I hope some of you are still with me and that you liked this chapter :D. Vielen dank for favourites/reviews/follows etc. so far :).**


	9. Chapter 9

Blaine drove down the quiet suburban street, aware of Kurt in the corner of his eye slumping lower and lower in his seat the closer they got to his house. Blaine couldn't help but wonder what "extremely awkward familial dynamics" entailed exactly. It seemed as though Kurt didn't _do_ awkward; as far as Blaine was aware, complete indifference (at least on the surface) was Kurt's go-to manner when he was a little uncomfortable. And whilst the idea of locking Kurt's clothes away when they were clearly something incredibly important to him seemed unnecessarily cruel to Blaine, Burt had come across as a genuine (albeit slightly terrifying) man who cared about his kid. But then again, Blaine had only briefly met him once.

A fleeting few minutes later, Blaine signalled and carefully checked his mirrors before pulling into the Hummel driveway. It was empty and the house lay quiet behind it, the dark windows staring vacantly out at them. He put the car firmly in park but left the engine idling with the heater on and turned to face Kurt.

Kurt was almost lying down in his seat by now, working an anxious hand through his hair as he studiously avoided looking at Blaine, peeking out instead over the edge of the dashboard at the house. "He's not fucking here," he muttered against the window, resting his chin on the ledge so that his warm breath condensed on the glass, forming ever changing shapes that shimmered bewitchingly across the clear surface before fading and retreating back on themselves.

Blaine ran his eyes over the unfathomable expression on Kurt's face. The tension had returned to his body, and his blue eyes were darting around the car and house like a caged animal.

Blaine shifted in his seat, waiting for some kind of signal from Kurt. But he showed no signs of movement. At all. "Are we going to stay in the car all afternoon or go in?" Blaine finally asked. "Because I'm not too sure if my heater can take it if we stay here. My car's getting on a bit. Poor Gloria," he added, patting the dashboard affectionately.

Kurt flicked his eyes to Blaine with a quirk of his lips. "The heater is the last thing you need to worry about on this car, Blaine," he said dryly. Blaine raised his eyebrows in question. "I'm pretty sure you've worn down the bearings in the engine," he continued grudgingly, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes with a loud exhalation. "And the gasket definitely needs tightening, maybe even replacing."

Blaine blinked. Kurt had got all that from not even looking inside the engine? "Are you serious?" he asked.

Kurt rotated his head around against the seat to look up at Blaine through his lashes. "Mechanics is no joking matter, Blaine," he said gravely, the twinkle in his eyes giving him away. "But yes, it does need to go into the shop. Like, yesterday."

"Alright," Blaine agreed with a grin. "I'll take it in."

Kurt nodded his approval and opened the car door, rolling out onto the driveway to land nimbly on both feet. Blaine mirrored him somewhat more sedately, turning the car off completely before slipping out and hopping up the couple of steps to the deck around Kurt's house. Kurt let them in with his key and walked into the hallway, propping the door open for Blaine with his foot.

Blaine wiped his feet carefully on the mat before taking the door from Kurt and toeing off his shoes. He nudged them neatly against the opposite wall while Kurt battled with the laces on his boots, grumbling under his breath as he tugged them loose bit by bit. Blaine watched with amusement as Kurt huffed and sank to the floor, giving up on undoing the laces completely as he resorted to just wrenching them off instead.

Kurt eventually got his boots off and scrambled to his feet, his face a little red as he brushed down the front of his jeans. "Not my most dignified of entrances," he said, in what Blaine thought was supposed to be a haughty tone. Blaine grinned lopsidedly at him. "Um, come in, I guess." Kurt motioned Blaine towards the hall with a wave of his arm.

Blaine squeezed against the wall to close the door behind him, shutting out the cold with a decisive click. The quiet of the house settled around them heavily, and Blaine began humming quietly under his breath. Kurt gave him an odd look but then turned away from him into the house.

Blaine followed Kurt into the hallway. The stairs went up the right hand side, a vast array of photos leading the way up to the second floor. Blaine could see dozens of them scattered up the pale cream expanse of wall. Most contained three people, but a few of them looked to be wedding photos. Blaine couldn't quite make out details of any apart from one portrait right at the foot of the stairs displaying a baby in its cot. The chubby infant was wearing a lilac onesie and had a small tuft of light brown hair sticking up, wild and unkempt, on the top of his head. Blaine smiled as he peered closer. The baby was looking up at the camera with wide blue eyes, one pudgy hand reaching out to the camera as if asking something from the photographer.

"Aw," he cooed. "Look at you." He glanced over at Kurt. "That is you, right?"

Kurt grimaced but nodded, barely looking at the photo before grabbing Blaine's arm and pulling him away from the wall. "Step away from the baby pictures, Blaine." Kurt led him along the side of the staircase, hand still wrapped around the Blaine's bicep. Blaine could feel the hair prickling up along his arm, ripples of warmth radiating out across his skin from Kurt's touch.

Blaine nearly tripped over his own feet as he tried to take in the house around him while still attached to Kurt. He just caught a glimpse of a sumptuous looking sitting room on the left hand side before he was pulled impatiently onwards into the kitchen.

Kurt let go of him with a jerk as they entered the room, folding his arms tightly across his chest as he came to a stop in the middle of the kitchen by the island. Blaine paused just inside the threshold of the room. Kurt was looking uncertain of himself, tilting over onto the edges of his socked feet as he tugged anxiously at the cuffs of his jacket.

"So," Blaine said, looking around the room as he tried to gather his thoughts. "This is Casa de Hummel."

Kurt nodded uncertainly. From what Blaine could see, the house was beautiful. Almost too beautiful. The kitchen was immaculate: so sparklingly clean that it looked like it had been teleported directly from a commercial for cleaning products, and it had been carefully decorated in a variety of tasteful (but not boring) beiges and creams. The colour scheme was underscored by dark grey of the granite counter, which, Blaine noted, was currently being gripped tightly by a white-knuckled Kurt. There were signs that people did live here - the various photos scattered around and the newspapers on the side gave exactly the right impression - but it still felt overwhelmingly, well,_ cold_ to Blaine. Like in a show-home, where the people in the pictures aren't real and the flowers are plastic.

Kurt was watching him expectantly, biting his bottom lip as he scuffed a foot over the tiled floor and leant against the island with an air nonchalance that Blaine soon recognised as completely artificial.

"It's really beautiful," Blaine said honestly. "I adore the colour scheme."

The edges of Kurt's mouth tipped upwards in a small but genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you. I did most of it myself," he said casually.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said with a tilt of his head to the side. "This could have got really fucking awkward if you didn't like it."

"But I wouldn't have said anything if I didn't like it," Blaine said plainly.

"I know," Kurt said as he rolled his eyes. "You're far too polite for that."

"That I am," Blaine replied, nodding earnestly. "But I do genuinely love it, so, hooray!" He raised his arms in small celebration in front of him.

Kurt turned away and snorted a few moments later, shaking his head. "You're fucking ridiculous."

Blaine's smile wavered slightly, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"In a good way," Kurt clarified, watching Blaine closely.

Blaine looked up to meet Kurt's gaze. Their eyes locked briefly, but Kurt blinked immediately and quickly cleared his throat with a cough, looking away again. "So," he said abruptly, "Do you want a drink or something?"

"Like, alcoholic?" Blaine asked incredulously.

Kurt let out a little huff of amusement. "No, Blaine. Like orange juice or coffee. Although if you do want something a bit stronger I could probably track that down for you."

"Oh, no, um, orange juice is great thank you," Blaine said, twisting his hands in front of him awkwardly.

Kurt glided around the kitchen, reaching for a couple of glasses in a cabinet to fleetingly expose a tantalising slither of smooth pale skin before grabbing the juice out of the door of the fridge, nudging it closed with a small nudge of a hip. He handed a glass to Blaine and kept the other for himself. Blaine watched intently as Kurt threaded his fingers together around the cool glass and raised it to his lips, his piercing giving a faint clink as it caught on the crystal. Kurt swallowed the juice with a small shiver of pleasure before lowering the glass and wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, raising his eyebrows questioningly at Blaine.

Because- oh. He was staring again.

Blaine dragged his eyes away from Kurt's lips, feeling the heat rising to the tips of his ears as he ducked his head to take a long cooling sip of his juice.

"So. What do you want to do?" Kurt asked, thankfully obliviously. "There's fuck all to do around here."

"Um," Blaine croaked. He cleared his throat. "I really don't mind. Whatever you usually do is fine."

"I suppose we could watch some TV?" Kurt suggested with a shrug.

"Sure, sounds good."

Kurt downed the rest of his drink and placed the glass in the sink before gesturing for Blaine to follow him. They left the kitchen and went back into the hall, turning right into the living room.

The room was full of warm colours; deep crimson curtains and homely oak furniture, a large inviting corner-couch and a huge overflowing bookcase behind it. And yet still there was something missing. Blaine couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was not quite right about this house. It felt oddly familiar though - a feeling he vaguely recognised from his own home.

Blaine sank into the deliciously comfy sofa with a soft sigh of contentment, tucking his feet up under him and picked up a cushion to cuddle on his lap. Kurt moved over to the TV, turning it on at the monitor. He turned his back on it as it flickered into life, searching for the remote around the room.

_The Real Housewives of New York _blared out into the living room. Blaine hugged the cushion closer to his chest as a wide grin spread across his face.

Kurt's eyes widened in horror and he dived frantically for the remote he had located on the bottom shelf of the coffee table and stabbed at the buttons, face scarlet as he muttered quietly under his breath. Blaine just caught "my dad must have left this on" and "I have no idea where the fuck this came from" before he lapsed into silence and collapsed down into the corner of the sofa, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

"Well," Blaine commented lightly, "I didn't think you were a BRAVO kind of a guy."

Kurt just mumbled unintelligibly under his breath, his chin dipping down to his chest.

"I love _Real Housewives_," Blaine said as flippantly as he could manage, glancing sideways at Kurt. "I wouldn't mind if we kept it on."

Kurt didn't move from where he sat, just silently reached for the remote once more and pressed in the right channel number deftly. Almost, Blaine smiled to himself, as if he frequented this channel quite a bit.

They settled down agreeably together and Blaine tried to concentrate on the plights of Aviva and Ramoma but it was a repeat and he found his attention constantly shifting sideways to the boy currently stretched out comfortably next to him. It was the most relaxed he had ever seen him, and yet Blaine knew that in the blink of an eye he could close off, completely shutting into himself and defensively block anyone out.

A commercial break came on, and Blaine took his chance.

"So, your dad wanted to meet me?" he asked conversationally.

Kurt dipped his head once in assent, keeping his eyes firmly on the TV.

Blaine sighed. "Kurt?"

"Hm?"

"Would you care to elaborate as to why exactly your dad wants to meet me?"

Kurt considered Blaine with a steady gaze, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "I've never had a friend come over here before."

"And you've lived here...how long?" he asked tentatively.

"All my life."

Blaine hesitated. "Not even Quinn?"

Kurt shook his head. "My dad spoke to Quinn once when he thought she was my girlfriend. I don't know what he said but Quinn has refused to come near him since. She said something about him reading her too well or some other bullshit." Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically. "Whatever."

"Okay," Blaine pondered. "But why does he want to meet me?"

"Because then he can convince himself he's bonding with me when actually he'll be talking to you the whole time," Kurt said flatly with no emotion, staring ahead at the TV again.

Blaine paused. "That makes no sense," he said quietly.

Kurt shrugged casually in response, but his breath hitched slightly in his throat as he slowly drew air in. Blaine studied him for a moment more, his fingers running absentmindedly up and down the edge of the cushion, but then let him be. "So," he prompted. "Team Ramona or Team Aviva?"

Kurt gave a short bark of high laughter and shook his head in the same incredulous and disbelieving way as earlier.

Blaine continued to stare at Kurt expectantly.

"What?" Kurt asked defensively.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Blaine said slowly. "It's important to our friendship that you chose the right Team. No pressure or anything," he added with a wink.

Kurt snorted and settled back into the couch to consider his answer.

* * *

After a few episodes, Kurt stopped side-eyeing Blaine after every exchange between the characters to gauge his reaction and was now just watching the programme with him. Just two guys, watching trashy TV together. It felt good.

Until, that is, Blaine heard the scraping of a key in the lock and Kurt visibly tensed beside him.

Blaine wiggled up on the couch to be straight in his seat when he heard the front door open. Kurt brought his knees up to his chest and curled his toes into the couch. The door closed with a loud bang, and Kurt's dad shuffled into the doorway of the living room, distractedly flicking through a stack of mail.

He glanced up at them and he let out a small grunt of greeting so reminiscent of Kurt that Blaine had to look between them to be sure from whom it has emanated from. Burt didn't look up, distracted for the moment by the contents of the post.

Kurt picked absently at a thread on the couch. Blaine watched as Kurt realised what he was doing began smoothing down the damaged area.

Eventually, Burt looked up from where he was stood in the door. "Hi boys," he said with a small smile. "Sorry I'm later than I said I would be. Something came up last minute at the garage."

Kurt shrugged a shoulder, not even bothering to look at him. Blaine smiled up at him politely.

"So," Burt said with a small huff as he sank into his armchair. "What are we watching?"

"Nothing," Kurt said flatly.

Burt raised his eyebrows. "I can see that," he said peering forward to squint at the screen. "This that Housewives programme you insist on watching all the time?"

Kurt coloured and glanced sideways at Blaine. Blaine grinned mischievously across at him. "Shut up," Kurt muttered, reaching forward to turn off the TV.

"I didn't say _anything_," Blaine sang, tilting his head from side to side happily.

Kurt scowled playfully at him. Blaine just kept grinning, turning to Burt when he felt his eyes on him.

Burt was looking between the pair of them, a shrewd expression on his face.

"What?" Kurt barked, his expression darker.

"Nothing, nothing." Burt turned to Blaine. "So, Blaine," Burt started. "You're new this year?"

Blaine nodded apprehensively.

"Where'd you transfer from?"

Blaine glanced at Kurt, who was now closely inspecting his nails. "From Dalton Academy in Westerville."

"Huh," Burt said interestedly. "We actually considered sending Kurt there for high school. But-, well, it didn't work out."

"I didn't know that," Kurt said quietly from his corner. Burt's flicked his eyes to him uncertainly, but he returned his attention quickly to Blaine.

"Why'd ya change schools? I mean, if you don't mind me asking?"

Blaine took a deep breath. "My dad felt that I wasn't getting everything he had hoped for me out of the school," he said carefully. "He didn't deem it worth the tuition to keep me there."

Blaine could feel Kurt's eyes on him now, but refused to look over, steadying his gaze on the line of DVDs straight ahead of him.

Burt settled back in his armchair, bringing one foot up to rest on the other knee. "So how'd you two meet?"

Kurt groaned and leant forward to glare at his dad. "Jesus Christ, dad. Why the fuck do you want to know that?"

"Just takin' an interest," Burt said innocently and then more sternly, "And watch your language."

Kurt rolled his eyes and slumped back on the cushions. "Whatever," he muttered.

Blaine looked furtively between the two, not enjoying being put in the middle. He finally settled on Kurt, because even though Burt was an authority figure it was Kurt who was his friend. Well, he was pretty sure Kurt was his friend anyway.

Kurt waved a hand carelessly in Blaine's direction. "Just answer his question. Get this over with."

"Right, well," Blaine started. "I was lost on the way to my Glee Club audition and Kurt showed me the way. Told me the way," he clarified. "And then a few days after that I got slushied and Kurt helped me out."

"Slushied?" Burt's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, you know, like someone threw an iced slushie drink on me? Kurt said that it happened a lot in freshman year to h-" Blaine saw movement from the corner of his eye and cut himself off halfway through the word. Kurt was frantically shaking his head at him. "Um," Blaine hesitated. "Kurt said it happens a lot at our school," he finished lamely. Kurt sank back into the sofa, a relieved look on his face.

Burt nodded absently. "Glee club audition you said? You get in?"

"Yes, I did," Blaine said proudly.

"I never really got all that singin' and dancin' stuff." Burt shook his head in bemusement. His face brightened. "But Kurt here, when he was a kid-"

"Dad!" Kurt interrupted loudly, scowling across at Burt. "Shut _up_!"

"I was just gonna say-"

"Well _don't._"

Burt raised his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright. I was just trying to help you actually open up-"

"I don't need your 'help'," Kurt said venomously, his voice raising in volume and pitch as he continued, "I've done fine without it until now and I am perfectly happy to continue that way."

Blaine lowered his gaze to the cushion, fiddling anxiously with the tassels that ran down the edge. The room was silent, save for the laboured breathing of Burt from his armchair. Blaine had never wanted to run away so much in his life.

"Blaine, I think it's best if you go now," Burt said quietly.

A wave of relief washed over Blaine. Quickly followed by a larger wave of guilt. Because Kurt _couldn't_ leave. This was Kurt's home. Blaine glanced at him. The apples of his cheeks were tinged pink and he was twirling the stud in his ear between his thumb and forefinger, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Blaine slowly got to his feet, plumping the cushion before replacing it to its place on the couch and gestured to the hall. "I guess I'll just be off then," he said falteringly.

Kurt blinked out of his stupor and untangled his limbs to stand up. "I'll walk you out," he mumbled.

Blaine nodded and walked back towards the front door. Kurt followed him and waited as he put on his shoes. Once he was ready, he turned back to Kurt.

"I'm really sorry to put you through that," Kurt said in a tiny voice.

"It's fine," Blaine said. He smiled ruefully. "Well, it's_ not_ fine, but it's fine, you know?"

Kurt nodded in understanding, his gaze on the floor in front of him.

Blaine leant forward and reached for Kurt's hand. Kurt twitched a little in shock at the contact but didn't take it back. His hand was surprisingly soft, and after a moment's hesitation, he curled his long elegant fingers around Blaine's, slotting them together into place perfectly.

"Please call me later if you want to talk," Blaine pleaded quietly. "Even if it's just about the last episode of The Bachelor. Please?" he implored, his wide eyes searching out Kurt's glassy stare.

Kurt gave a tiny nod, the corners of his lips wavering upwards.

Blaine smiled encouragingly and squeezed his hand gently before letting it go, stepping backwards onto the deck as he maintained eye contact with Kurt. He gave one last feeble wave of his hand before reluctantly closing the door behind him. The last thing he saw was Kurt's quivering smile drop heavily, his unfocused eyes staring out hazily at him until he was blocked from view.

* * *

**A/N: **So it seems all I do is apologise in the author's notes these days.

Basically, I was volunteering in the olympic stadium for the Paralympics and I didn't quite appreciate how much it would take over my life. But I can't be sorry about that, because it was the best 12 days of my life. I keep on going through my photos like... was that dream? Did I really get to do that every day? But then I feel so different, I feel like a different and _better _person. So I can't imagine that it _didn't _happen. Just meeting thousands and thousands of people every day who were so keen to support the athletes was so inspiring and I get really cheesy about this and so eurgh_ sorry_ I could seriously ramble on about this forever, but tl;dr the whole experience was soul soothing and tbh life-affirming.

ANYWAY. Now I've moved into my new flat for the year and have settled in properly (with very questionable internet atm :( ). So YES (fist pump) writing is happening folks.

AND before people come out with their pitch-forks about Burt pleeeeease remember that this is told from Kurt's perspective (well, and Blaine). And even if it is undeniable that Burt has not handled lots of stuff well _at all_, it needs to be remembered that he is suffering terribly too. Okay? Okay. Bueno. XD.

I hope y'all had a wunderbar few weeks and OMG I JUST REMEMBERED I HAVEN"T EVEN MENTIONED THE NEW GLEE YET. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did! For once I didn't livestream it (crappy internet D:) but I found that I actually enjoyed it a whole lot more being able to just watch it in one chuck.

Blaine you are adorable.

Wowsers this is a rambling author's note.

Bye!

P.S. I love all of you and thank you so much for sticking with my incredibly sporadicly updated story. It means the world to me :D :D. I love hearing what you guys have to think about it. Hugsssss


	10. Chapter 10

Kurt fought to keep the smile on his face until after the door had closed behind Blaine but try as he might he couldn't do it. His hand was still reaching loosely out into mid air where Blaine had left it. He retracted it slowly, watching as his fingers curled together into a fist as they tried and encapsulate the residual warmth left from Blaine's touch.

He listened intently for the retreating footfalls, heard the slam of the car door and the soft purring of the car. A smile crept unexpectedly across his face as he heard the telltale rattle he had picked up on earlier interspersed with the soothing sound of the engine. Blaine would have to bring in the car ("Gloria" Kurt corrected himself with a wry shake of the head) to be checked soon. And Kurt did happen to know a decent shop. With a fucking flawless mechanic with the best-fitting overalls in Lima.

Kurt wedged his now cool fingers into the pockets of his jeans, turning back towards the living room. He jumped when he saw Burt in the doorway with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, an indecipherable expression on his face.

"What?"

Burt just shrugged and leant sideways to rest on the wooden frame of the door.

Kurt rolled his eyes and stalked past him back into the kitchen. He could hear his father following behind him but ignored him completely, walking to the fridge where he began pulling out vegetables. He would do a stir-fry for dinner. At least then it would be over quickly. Small mercies and all that.

He reached down for the chopping board from the cupboard, fingers working absentmindedly over the engraving on the side (6 Aug '87) as he placed it gently down on the sparkling granite surface. He set up a steady rhythm chopping peppers and onions into juliennes, methodically cutting perfect strip after perfect strip with practiced ease. Kurt kept his head resolutely down, eyes trained on the sharp edges of the knife, aware of the unshifting gaze of his father from the corner of the room.

"Sometimes," Burt said out of nowhere. "People aren't going out of their way to make your life miserable. I was only tryin' to be nice there, Kurt."

Kurt set the knife down carefully next to the board and grabbed the wok from its hook. He moved it onto the heat, adding oil and swirling it around until he was satisfied the bottom of the pan was covered.

He looked up to meet Burt's eyes. "Well don't bother. It's not worth it." He scraped the vegetables off the board so that they tumbled haphazardly into the wok. They sizzled violently, spitting up oil as they settled into the heat.

"I think it is," Burt said quietly.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, keeping his attention on mixing the vegetables.

Burt cleared his throat. "Blaine seems like a nice kid."

Kurt added the noodles without so much as an acknowledgement.

"You two seem to get along well."

He kept the pan moving, flicking and flipping the vegetables with a professional flick of the wrist.

"I'm glad you've found someone like him."

Kurt scoffed as he carefully worked the wooden spoon around the edge of the pan, ensuring it was all cooked through.

"And it might be good for you that he likes all the musical stuff."

He dished the noodles onto two plates and deposited the wok in the sink.

Burt sighed. "I'm not going to stop trying."

Kurt deposited a plate of food in front of him. "Good luck with that," he said as he swept out of the room.

* * *

Hours later found Kurt stretched out fully clothed on top of the covers of his bed, headphones carefully positioned over his shock of hair and iPod lying on the blanket next to him. His eyes were closed, and he might well have been asleep save for the rhythmic flexing of his fingers on his stomach and his lips working soundlessly around the lyrics of the song.

The light flicked on, sending his previously soothing dark world into an angry glowing orange. Kurt blinked his eyes open and squinted over at the door, rolling his eyes as soon as he saw who it was.

"Expecting someone else?" Burt joked.

Kurt just pointed to his headphones and shook his head in pretend confusion, turning up to face the ceiling and closing his eyes again. He waited a few moments, expecting his father to give up and go back downstairs.

He was startled when the headphones were pulled back from his ears, and scrambled to sit up. "Dad, what the _fuck?_"

Burt just shrugged. "Gotta get you to listen to me somehow."

"Oh, yippee." He flopped back down on his bed. " Another 'chat'."

"Yep," Burt said, moving over to sit on Kurt's desk chair. "Something you're gonna have to get used to I'm afraid."

Kurt ground his teeth together in frustration.

"So what's the deal with this Blaine kid?"

"What do you _think_ is the deal with 'this Blaine kid'?"

"Kurt," Burt sighed. "I'm just tryin' to talk to you."

"What the fuck do you want to know about him? You said you're glad I've found 'someone like him', but _what does that even mean_? Someone who's not blowing smoke in your face? Someone who's not wearing a ragged old leather jacket? Someone who's not got dozens of piercings? Your judgement is truly inspiring."

"Hey, no," Burt protested. "You're putting words in my mouth there."

Kurt fixed him with an icy stare. "I know what you were thinking."

"Do you, though? I'm beginning to think that we don't understand each other at all."

"No," Kurt said, analysing the paint on his ceiling. "You just don't even try."

"Then what am I doing right now?"

Kurt resisted the (strong,_ strong_) urge to roll his eyes derisively. Because _seriously?_ His father was going to act like he should be _rewarded_ for attempting to talk to his son?

Fuck. Off.

He inhaled steadily for three counts like the books said. Held it for three counts. Exhaled for six.

He didn't feel any better.

Again.

Nope.

Fuck it. "A week of attempting fatherhood doesn't make up for four years of failure."

Burt didn't reply and Kurt refused to look at him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest and his breathing getting shallower with each breath. He blinked rapidly.

"I don't know how to talk to you anymore, kiddo," Burt said eventually in a low voice.

"You can start by not opening each conversation with some form of accusation. Maybe then I'll be willing to listen to what you have to say."

"Will you, though?"

"I guess that depends on what it is."

"What if I were to say that I think it's good you found someone like Blaine? Not in the way you have already decided that I meant, but in the way that I'm happy that you've found someone who actually _gets _you. That was really all I meant, Kurt."

Kurt rolled onto his side to face away from Burt, curling up as he reached underneath the pillow to wind his fingers into the silk scarf carefully folded under it. "Whatever," he muttered.

Burt fell silent once again. Kurt could hear his heavy breathing from across the room on the bed, calming him with the undulating repetition of each breath in and out, in and out.

His father's breath suddenly hitched. Kurt peered back over his shoulder to look at him. Burt had his eyes fixed on a photo on the nightstand. Kurt ran his eyes over it, the familiar ache in his heart making itself known. It was his favourite photo, and one of his favourite memories of his mother.

She stared out at him from the past with sparkling blue eyes, eyes that people said were identical to his. He had spent many hours in the mirror trying to see the resemblance for himself, hoping to find that essence of her and feel her presence just for a second, just for a moment's relief from the perpetual sense of panic that he wouldnever see her again.

He had never found it.

In the photo, she was kneeling next to him on the grass in their garden, a slender arm wrapped around his shoulders and her gently curled brown hair falling across onto his shoulders as he sat at the tiny table and chairs set out for tea. He must have been about eight at the time.

"She would hate to see us like this," Burt said quietly.

Kurt stared into his mother's eyes, allowing himself one more moment to drink her in before turning back to face the other wall. "Lucky for you she's not here then, isn't it?"

"Kurt, please," Burt whispered gruffly. "Don't ever say anything like that again."

Kurt swallowed. "No, because that would require us to actually talk about her, wouldn't it? And that would obviously be the worst thing in the world."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I've never wanted to talk about _it. _I wanted to talk about _her _all the time. But whatever, it's fine now."

"Clearly," Burt said.

Kurt kept quiet. _Take the hint. Please. I can't do this for much longer._

He heard Burt get to his feet and stretch a little, scooping up the plate Kurt had left on his desk and trudging towards the door. He paused at the door, swivelling his head to look back at Kurt.

"Why Blaine?"

"Why Blaine what?" Kurt asked wearily.

"Why are you letting Blaine in when you've pushed everyone else away?"

Kurt tipped his chin up and looked him in the eye. "Because I trust him," he whispered.

He turned back to face the wall before he could see a reaction on his father's face.

* * *

Kurt crawled into bed, drawing the covers over his head and holding his phone tightly in his hand. His finger hovered over the 'call' button next to Blaine's name. He swerved instead to enlarge the thumbnail of Blaine in the corner of the screen.

It was taken during normal lunchtime on the bleachers, sans Quinn this time, and Blaine had been messing around with his phone, trying to take a picture of Kurt. Kurt, naturally, had been extremely averse to the idea, not only because he was above such childish things but also because he had an angry red zit right smack bang in the middle of his forehead. That was no way to be in someone's phone permanently. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing of course.

Eventually they had agreed (grudgingly, on Kurt's part) that if Blaine was to take a photo of Kurt it was only fair that Kurt return the favour and have a photo of Blaine as well.

Kurt stared down at the photo. Blaine was looking straight into the camera with those ridiculous eyes of his, a soft smile playing around his lips. His chin was tucked into a woollen scarf wrapped warmly around his neck, shoulders braced against the cold. Kurt touched his thumb gently to the screen.

He sucked in a deep breath and quit the screen, squeezing his eyes tightly and stabbing blindly at the 'call' button.

It rang out loudly against his ear until there was a click and then a small snuffling sound. "-lo?" Blaine answered thickly.

"Hi."

The phone continued rustling. "Kurt?"

"The very same."

"Oh," Blaine said slowly, continuing to shuffle about, the phone crackling. "Sorry, I just didn't expect you to actually call."

Oh. Oh _crap_. "This was one of those times when people say something or offer something that they don't actually mean, wasn't it? You didn't actually want me to call." Kurt ran a hand over his forehead anxiously. "Fuck. I should have got that."

"No no," Blaine said quickly. "I wanted you to call, I just didn't necessarily think you would."

Kurt sagged into the mattress in relief. "Well, I did."

"And I am very pleased about that." He could hear the smile in Blaine's voice.

Kurt's stomach gave happy little twist. "Good."

There was a short pause. Kurt was perfectly content to just listen to the soothing sounds of Blaine's breathing.

That was creepy again, wasn't it? Fuck.

"I had fun today," Blaine said conversationally. "My brother has tried to convince me that no-one of any substance actually watches Real Housewives, and I'm always pleased to have an opportunity to prove him wrong."

"You have a brother?" For some reason he couldn't imagine Blaine with any siblings at all.

"Yep," Blaine said. "He's much older than me, though. He lives in LA."

Kurt gave a small whistle. "Lucky him."

"I don't know," Blaine said thoughtfully. "I've been to visit him a couple of times and I'm not sold on it. I've always had a far stronger affinity for New York, personally."

Kurt pressed his smile into the blanket. "Me too."

"I've only been twice but I just fell in love with it, you know? I walked off the plane and immediately it felt right. It felt like home, like I was supposed to be there. Just two more years and I'llbe there…" Blaine drifted off dreamily.

"I went this summer with Quinn and felt exactly the same." Kurt said, not able to keep the excitement from filtering into his voice. "It's always been New York for me. My mom and I-" he broke off quickly, gripping the phone tightly. "Well, since I was a kid I've dreamt of living in New York."

Blaine paused. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" he said carefully. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but if you want to talk about something, anything, then I will always be here. I'm a pretty good listener."

"I-," Kurt broke off, his voice cracking. "Thank you."

"No problem at all."

"You don't have to be so nice, though," Kurt said. "You didn't have to answer my dad back there about the transfer. I know you weren't exactly okay talking about it. You can say no."

There was silence from the other end of the line then a light chuckle. "Sorry," Blaine said with a small laugh. "I totally just shrugged down the phone at you."

Kurt let out a breath of laughter.

"I guess I don't like to let authority down," Blaine said. Kurt could almost hear the grimace in his voice.

"My dad is not 'authority', Blaine."

"I know it sounds ridiculous," Blaine defended. "But that's what Dalton does for you, I suppose."

Kurt shuffled down further into his bed. "If we hang out enough that politeness will soon be gone. I am what I believe they call a 'bad influence'. You should get out while you still can."

Blaine huffed a laugh. "Think you're some kind of badass, do you? I'm onto you, Mr Hummel. You can be all cool with your pink hair and your cigarettes and your heavy metal, but I know that you're a teddy bear inside. It is my mission to release your inner teddy bear."

"I-." Kurt blinked. "-Don't even know what to say to that."

"You don't need to say anything," Blaine said smugly. "Just wait. I will have my way with you."

Kurt's eyes widened in shock as he took in Blaine's words. "Shut up," Blaine groaned. "I know how that sounded. Just-, _don't_."

"I didn't say anything," Kurt said innocently.

"Not yet, anyway," Blaine grumbled.

Kurt pressed his lips together to hold in his laugh. It was just too easy.

"You can ask about it if you want," Blaine said. "My transfer."

Kurt rotated the stud in his ear thoughtfully. "I just don't get why your dad_ wanted_ you to transfer_ out_ of private school."

Blaine sighed heavily. "It wasn't so much the private school part as the all-boys part."

Kurt scrunched his eyes in confusion. "What was the problem with that?"

"He found out I had a boyfriend."

Oh.

"A boyfriend," Kurt echoed, an unsettled and jittery feeling worming its way to bottom of his stomach.

A _boyfriend._

Much to Kurt's relief, this topic of conversation had never come up between them. They had never even so much as confirmed that they were both _gay_, for fuck's sake. He was sure Blaine must have heard things about him - he did know how hard the rumour mill worked at McKinley after all - but it had always seemed off limits for discussion somehow. An unspoken agreement to steer clear of talk of any romantic (or indeed, non-romantic) 'encounters'.

"Yeah," Blaine carried on, oblivious to Kurt's discomfort. "He was my first proper boyfriend and my dad scared him off. Pathetic, I know." Blaine said with a scoff. "I should have been pissed. But to be honest I couldn't help but be a little relieved. He, -my ex-boyfriend that is, was a little… intense."

Kurt swallowed. "Huh," he said eloquently. Visions whipped through his mind with painful clarity. Blaine with a boyfriend. Wrapping long, tanned arms tightly around Blaine's tiny waist. Walking with their hands swinging gently between them. Threading his fingers through his. Smoothing down the collars of his shirts. Tweaking his bow-ties. Singing with him in the car. Curling up in front of The Bachelor together.

"If I'm honest, though," Blaine persisted. "And please excuse my language here, he was a complete and utter jerk."

Kurt gave a shocked laugh. "Scathing words there from Blaine Anderson. If it was me, and I don't even know the guy or what he did, I would just say he was a fucking asshole."

Blaine chuckled thickly. "I know you would."

Kurt curled up a little tighter into a ball, running his fingers up his arm. "So what was wrong with this guy?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

"He was just not a nice guy. Manipulative, arrogant, knows what he wants and is completely unwilling to compromise - you know the drill." Blaine gave a small sigh. "But I loved him. He was my first everything, you know?"

Kurt hummed noncommittally in response.

"I'm sorry this must all seem so juvenile to you," Blaine said.

"No, no." Kurt cleared his throat. "It's fine."

"Well, I don't want to bore you, so the long and short of it is that he's not a good guy and I'm much better off without him."

"…Would you like me to whoop like you're on Oprah to celebrate that you're a strong independent man?" Kurt asked dryly.

Blaine laughed. "I would very much like to hear that actually, yes."

"Another day, maybe," Kurt said. "I've got to work up to it."

"I'm sure." Blaine yawned loudly in Kurt's ear.

Kurt smiled. "I'm sorry to keep you up past your bedtime."

"No, really, I'm fine," Blaine bit back another adorable yawn.

"I'll let you go back to sleep," Kurt said. "But thank you for talking to me."

"It was my pleasure. Bye, Kurt. Sleep well."

"Bye, Blaine. See you at school."

"Bye."

He hung up and brought the phone tightly to his chest, holding it against him like a lifeline.

"Thank you," he murmured.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi folks! This chapter actually came together quite nicely in the end after I struggled with the tone for a few days. I hope you liked it :). I love writing Blaine and Kurt's conversations sooo much. I am all about the teasin'. The pleasin' will come later. I promise.

Thank you so much for the lovely lovely reviews. I adore hearing what you guys think! Much love x


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: *whistles***

**Nobody noticed that I completely messed up the posting of this and had to do it again, right? Perf. (I'm sorry if you got two emails. I hope you weren't expecting 2 new chapters! Sorry guys.)**

* * *

Kurt woke early the next morning, phone still clutched tightly in his hand and blankets tangled hopelessly around his legs. He sighed and stretched out, pushing the blankets to the end of the bed with his feet. Running a hand through his messy hair, he squeezed his eyes closed for just one more moment before rolling out of bed and trudging downstairs to get a coffee, his just-too-long sweats scuffing on the floor with each step.

He folded his arms around his body, the chill in the house permeating through the thin undershirt he had slung on before bed, and shuffled into the kitchen. Kurt blinked blearily against the bright light streaming into the room. Broad rays of sunlight illuminated specs of dust suspended in the air, and he watched as they glittered and danced with the grace of tiny fairies.

Kurt noticed a large book on the table, left open, with an empty beer bottle abandoned next to it. It was a large leather bound photo album, one that Kurt knew well.

The Wedding Album.

Kurt was fairly sure that his father hadn't looked at it in the past four years. Every so often, he went around and dusted all the photos and books in the house, and each time they all had exactly the same amount of dust on them. In all the time that Kurt had taken it upon himself to make sure that none of his mom's things should appear to have become neglected, none of them had ever been disturbed or the order changed. He knew his father had some photos in their bedroom, and probably other things of hers, but the albums in the living room had not been touched once.

And yet, here it was, open at the page of the moment they left the church, entering the world for the first time as husband and wife.

Kurt flopped into a chair and drew the album towards him, running his fingers down the edge of the page as he gazed down at the photo. The photographer must have been in the church porch looking out at the couple walking away to the waiting car. Kurt imagined someone called out to them and they both turned back, their bodies facing each other and hands clasped firmly between them. Even from a distance you could see that they were radiating happiness, eyes shining brightly out of the page up at Kurt, living in the moment when they were no longer alone in life, when they would always have someone there.

But few will ever be so fortunate.

'Til death do them part, indeed.

Kurt slammed the book closed. It was too early for this shit.

* * *

Blaine arrived early at school, hoping to catch Kurt before classes. He parked in his usual spot and pulled out his phone.

_To: Kurt (7.14 am)_

_I'm at school already :) If you're here early as well I'll be in the library! B x_

He spent his usual ten minutes agonising over how to sign it off (deciding eventually to just leave it how it was) and then gathered his books together and made his way to the library.

After a few minutes he spotted Kurt slouching into the library, the collar of his denim jacket popped and his cheeks flushed from the cold.

"Hello, Kurt dear," the old librarian trilled from behind her desk. "We missed you around here, it's lovely to see you again."

Kurt looked at her and then across at Blaine, as if to check that he was within hearing distance, startled wide eyes quickly calculating what to do.

"Good morning, Mrs Pince," he said out of the corner of his mouth, darting over to Blaine's table and sinking down into the chair opposite him.

Blaine grinned at him. "Good morning, Kurt dear," he trilled in as close an imitation he could get to Mrs Pince.

"Fuck off," Kurt groaned, burying his head in his arms.

"I think it's lovely that you have such a good rapport with the library staff," Blaine said, reaching forward to pat his arm. "Not quite the generous welcome I received, though, is it?"

Kurt lifted his head from his hands. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do," Blaine said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world to remember an obscure conversation months ago.

"Oh," Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I actually spent a lot of time here in Freshman and Sophomore years, so, I guess they got to know me or whatever."

Blaine smiled at him. "I guess they did. Do you now understand what I was saying last night? Teddy bear."

Kurt dropped his head to the table again. "You're insane," he mumbled into the scratched wood surface.

"I'm glad you called last night," Blaine said after a while. "I was a little bit worried about you."

Kurt jerked to sit up straight, regarding Blaine closely. "Number one: I don't need anyone worrying about me, I thought we'd covered that already. And number two: there was no reason to be worried."

"It's just things between you and your dad seem a little-," he paused to make sure he had to right word. "-Strained."

Kurt snorted. "To say the fucking least."

"You know it doesn't make you weak if people are worried about you. It just means they care."

Kurt opened his mouth, a harsh expression on his face and Blaine instinctually drew back from the inevitable blow, but he seemed to stop himself. "I-," he started, stopping when his voice cracked to clear his throat. "Thank you."

Blaine smiled gently over at him. "There's nothing to thank me for."

"There is," Kurt said softly. "More than you know."

The corners of Kurt's eyes crinkled in a genuine smile.

They both jumped as the first bell rang out loudly. Blaine glared at the offending object in annoyance. "I guess we should get to homeroom."

Kurt nodded and got to his feet, smoothing down his pants carefully. "I'll see you at lunch?"

Blaine leant forward and clapped a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You'll see me at lunch," he said with a squeeze and a fleeting smile before he turned on the spot and set off to class, leaving Kurt staring after him.

* * *

_From: Blaine (12.35pm)_

_I'm in the courtyard if you're looking for me. It's a little more sheltered here :) _

Kurt sighed and pocketed his phone. The courtyard it was, then. He stood from where he had been huddled on the bleachers and pulled the long sleeves poking out of his denim jacket down over his hands, bounding down the steps and out onto the stretch of grass leading back to the school.

He spotted Quinn coming towards him, the wind whipping at her short hair.

"Hey," he said as he got within speaking distance. "Blaine's in the courtyard, says it's a little calmer there."

Quinn nodded and turned on the spot, tilting her head to smirk at Kurt. "Wouldn't want to let Blaine down now, would we?"

"I don't know what you mean," he said, folding his arms across his chest.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You're not half as discreet as you like to think you are, you know."

"Fuck off," he said with no bite.

"Nope," Quinn said cheerily. "This is far too enjoyable."

Kurt scowled at her, narrowing his eyes in accusation. "You're far too joyful for such a shitty day. Why are you so happy?"

"No reason," she said. "Just enjoying life."

"Are you high?" he demanded. "What have you taken?"

"Can't I be happy without you assuming I'm on something? I think that says more about you than it does me, Kurty-boy."

Kurt ignored her, readjusting his beanie as they trudged through the school.

"There he is," Quinn said when they got to the courtyard. "Go leap into lover-boy's arms."

Kurt head his head high and strode over to the steps, greeting Blaine with a nod and slumping down on the concrete next to him. Quinn ambled across, still smiling in that shit-eatingly frustrating way.

"What's up with Quinn?" Blaine asked, watching her slowly come towards them.

Kurt shrugged nonchalantly. "Who knows? Bitch be crazy." He drew out the vowel on the last word as he twirled his finger in the air by his head.

Blaine snorted inelegantly. "I don't get you guys' relationship, like, _at all_."

"It's a beautiful relationship based on not really speaking with occasional bouts of insulting each other," Kurt said with a smile. "I wouldn't expect you to understand such things."

Blaine drew himself indignantly, but before he could reply Quinn had finally arrived.

"Hello boys," she practically sang. "What'cha doin'?"

Kurt settled back against the step behind theirs. "Oh, you know, the usual. Blaine here was just teaching me the fine art of underwater hockey, and then we were going to knit a sweater together or perhaps go to a Morris dancing class."

Quinn nodded sagely. "Just as I thought."

Blaine shook his head in amusement.

Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, pinching it between his lips as he patted down his various pockets to track down his lighter. He glanced up to see Blaine looking at him with a small frown on his face. Kurt looked away quickly.

Quinn held out her lighter to him, a questioning look on her face. He grabbed it and lit up his cigarette, leaning his hand back against the step and closing his eyes.

"Oh Christ," Quinn said after a while.

"What?" Kurt muttered, not opening his eyes.

"Incoming at two o'clock."

"What?" Kurt hefted himself up to rest on his elbows and regretted it immediately. Rachel Berry was marching across the courtyard towards them, a look of terrifying intent in her eyes. "Oh joy."

She came to a stop in front of them and drew herself up tall. "Blaine, Kurt, Quinn." She nodded to them each in turn. Kurt stared back completely non-plussed.

Rachel turned to address Blaine. "Despite any previous altercations, we - the Glee Club - would like to cordially invite you to come and sit with us."

"That's a very sweet offer, thank you Rachel, but I already agreed to spend lunch with Kurt here."

Rachel turned to Kurt in surprise, regarding him closely. He raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

"I suppose I could be convinced to extend my invitation to include one more. Kurt, if you can handle not smoking us all out of the school for half an hour, I formally offer you the opportunity to sit with Glee Club in the cafeteria."

"Golly gee whiz, what an honour," he said, flicking the ash of his cigarette to the floor.

Rachel beamed, the sarcasm in his voice going straight over her head. "I knew you'd come around eventually. Please, follow me."

She swept off with a swish of her hair and headed into the school. Kurt turned to Blaine incredulously. "Seriously?"

Blaine gave an apologetic smile. "Seriously."

Kurt shook his head in bafflement.

"Do you want to come?" Blaine asked. "It could be, um, nice?"

Kurt looked at him with a sceptical tilt of the head. "You sound like you might need a little convincing there yourself."

"Things between me and the Glee Club have just been a little…strained for a while." Blaine scratched the back of his neck anxiously. "With me not sitting with them at lunch and stuff."

A cold trickle of guilt slipped down Kurt's spine. "You should go," he said forcefully, bringing his cigarette to his lips.

"No, that's not what I meant. Lunch is like, our thing." Kurt's heart fluttered a little in his chest and he gave a small smile around his cigarette. " I want you to come, too. Please?" Blaine sent Kurt a pleading look, wide amber eyes boring into Kurt's.

Kurt blinked away from the contact. Dammit.

"Come on, don't be so fucking boring. Let's just go," Quinn said loudly from next to them. Kurt jumped, having forgotten she was there.

"Just because you want to cosy up with Puckerman," he muttered mutinously.

She shrugged, walking behind him and shoving him forwards. "We're going."

Kurt grumbled under his breath the whole way there, dragging the other two along as much as he could. Making sure Blaine was in front of him before he went into the cafeteria, he took another couple of quick puffs on his cigarette before he dropped it onto the concrete floor with a sly flick of the wrist.

After he'd followed him in, he saw that a couple of tables had been pushed together on the other side of the room, and all the Glee Club was gathering closely around it, laughing and joking over their lunch. Kurt swallowed. This could not be further from where he belonged, further from what he felt comfortable with.

They abruptly stopped talking when they saw him approaching. Blaine faltered in front of him, stumbling over his own feet. Kurt reached out a hand to the small of his back and gently pressed him on. Blaine jumped at the unexpected touch, but fell back into step, throwing Kurt a tense smile back over his shoulder.

They were all openly staring at him. He recognised most of them from his classes; Santana and Brittany, adjacent hands conspicuously under the table, Finn, already glaring at him, Mercedes, already ready to bitch him out, Tina and Mike, who looked unsure of how to react, and Artie, twisting his hands nervously in his lap.

Kurt ran a hand through his hair and plunked himself in a seat next to Blaine, stretching his legs out under the table. His heavily booted feet hit those of the blonde-haired boy across from him, who immediately pulled his feet away under his chair. The boy looked at him with undisguised distrust. Kurt left his feet where they were, throwing him a wink.

Blaine sat primly next to him, so obviously uncomfortable that Kurt could feel the waves of tension rolling off him. He didn't really get why this was so difficult for Blaine. He spent most of his time with this bunch of misfits, and the rest with him. Surely he should be in his element.

Kurt glanced around the table and was irked but not surprised to see Finn glaring at him from the other end.

"Why is he here?" Finn asked the table at large, still staring at Kurt.

"Because I invited him," Rachel said.

"I'm sorry but I don't remember voting on whether we let_ him_ sit with us."

Kurt felt Blaine shift slightly in his seat next to him.

"I had to take the executive decision when Blaine wouldn't leave Kurt to lunch on his own," Rachel said imperiously.

Kurt looked at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. A bright flush had blossomed up Blaine's neck as he stared resolutely at his salad, twisting his hands nervously in his lap. Interesting.

"But still," Finn said petulantly.

Kurt smirked across the table at him. "You miss me?"

Finn stabbed at his food and didn't reply. Kurt considered that a win.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Blaine, thank you for joining us. In these difficult times it is of paramount importance that we stick together as a club-"

"And by 'difficult times' she means the fact that we are so short of members that she can't afford to have anyone else leave," Tina chipped in. "Not anything to do with the financial crisis."

"Must be trying times indeed," Kurt said dryly.

"Actually, Kurt," Rachel said. "I think you'll find these are extremely trying times. We need more members if we're to compete at Regionals. The band have refused to mime in the background like they did for Sectionals - something about 'loss of their musical integrity' I'm not too sure because I had left before they finished, but the crux of the matter is that we have to keep everyone we've got and we need to start recruiting again." She banged her fist on the table to punctuate the last few words to devastatingly littleeffect.

"I'm sorry," said Kurt, not sorry at all. "But why am I being subjected to a Glee Club meeting? Can't you just eat lunch like fucking normal human beings?"

"He actually has a point," Mercedes said, pointing her fork at him and turning to Rachel. "You, hush."

Rachel huffed and fell back into her chair, muttering bitterly to herself.

"Okay, are we going to talk about the freaking ginormous elephant in the room?" Santana said, leaning forward on her elbows to look between Kurt and Blaine. "How long have you two been doing the nasty?"

Blaine spluttered next to him, coughing on the rabbit food he had been attempting to ingest.

Kurt, however, held Santana's gaze, his lips quirking up slightly at the corners. "How long have you two been fucking?" he said, jerking his head between Santana and Brittany, a smug expression on his face.

Santana's face darkened. "Alright then lady lips, I see how it is." She pointed at him and swished her high ponytail. "That's how you wanna play it then fine. You should know that while you've been having sweet sweet boy loving with eyebrows over here-"

"Kurt and I are just friends," Blaine blurted out. "We have never had sex. Or anything. Okay? Never. _Friends._ Two gay guys can just be friends as easily as a straight guy and a straight girl can. Got it?"

_Yep_, Kurt thought to himself with a small shake of the head,_ pretty impossible to _not _get that. Friends. Should have just spelt it out to make it that little bit clearer. I don't think someone on the other side of the cafeteria got it. Yeah, you should definitely say it again. F-r-i-e-n-d-s. _

"Now we've established that little gem of knowledge, thank you Blaine," Rachel said, taking charge once again. "I do think it's important that we consider our options for getting people interested in Glee."

Kurt leant back in his chair and shut off his ears. _Why the fuck did he let himself be dragged here?_

Blaine nudged him and leant over to whisper in his ear. "I'm really sorry about them. I don't know why they think that we're a thing."

_Oh, _Kurt thought as Blaine smiled apologetically at him from mere inches away_, that's why._

* * *

**A/N: **There is a teeny-tiny Harry Potter reference hidden in this chapter. Gold star and a pat on the back if you spotted it :D.

Posting on a Monday lunchtime? What is this madness?

Hope you enjoyed it :).

I wish everyone the best of luck from the bottom of my heart for this week's Glee. Deep breaths. We can do this, kids.

See you on the other side.


	12. Chapter 12

Blaine tore his eyes from Kurt's and glanced up around the table, recoiling back in his chair when he caught the angry glare of Quinn from opposite him. He blinked and peered around to see if there was a more likely candidate for her to be staring at. Shifting uncomfortably he looked for help from Kurt, but his blank stare was now fixed on the edge of the table in front of him as he fiddled distractedly with the long sleeves of his shirt.

Blaine reluctantly returned his gaze to Quinn when he was sure she could only be looking at him.

"What?" he mouthed.

She rolled her eyes and tapped the watch wrapped around her slender wrist. "Later."

Blaine dipped his head in assent, mind already racing with possibilities of what he could have possibly done to upset her. To be honest, he was a little afraid of Quinn. They had spent time together, with lunch being a regular fixture together these days, but they hadn't spent time _together._ Kurt had always been between them, and truth be told, Kurt and Quinn so rarely spoke to each other anyway that Blaine still had very little understanding of what she was about. Of course he had heard things on the grapevine, murmurings of great judgement and derision, but as with Kurt, he tried his utmost not to judge based on sourceless rumours.

As lunch drew to a close, Kurt immediately scraped his chair back and got to his feet, muttering a quiet "see you later" to Blaine and striding out back towards the courtyard, already digging into his pockets for a cigarette.

Blaine jumped as a hand curled around his bicep. Quinn had appeared right next to him, a grim expression on her face.

"We're going to have a little chat," she said, and dragged him out of the cafeteria and into an empty classroom. She slammed the door and let him go.

"What?" he asked indignantly, rubbing over his arm.

Quinn folded her arms. "You're seriously asking that?"

"Um, yes."

She hopped up onto the teacher's desk and gestured to a chair. "Sit."

He sat.

"Kurt has stuck with me through so much crap when no one else has. Did you know I used to be a cheerio?"

"I … legitimately can't imagine that," he said faintly, wondering where on earth this was going.

"Well, you better believe it. In fact, I was head cheerio when I got knocked up. As soon as the news broke, everyone in this school pushed me away. Literally everyone. Apart from Kurt. We've never done the whole 'heart-to-heart touchy feely' kind of friendship but we've been there for each other when there was no-one else for either of us. That _means _something."

Blaine nodded, feeling two feet tall even though he had no idea why.

"So you can be his friend, be his boyfriend, _whatever_," she continued. "As long it is good with him, fine. But _do not fuck with him._ You must have gathered by now that he has been through shit, is _still going through shit. _I will make you regret it if you make him go through even _more _shit, capishe?"

Blaine nodded dumbly. "I, um-." He cleared his throat quickly. "-Yes, I understand, and trust me I don't want to hurt Kurt in any way, but I don't know what I did."

"You don't-" she broke off, shaking her head. "At that table in there you just acted as if the very idea of being with Kurt disgusted you. As if you could never be with him."

"That wasn't what I meant at all!" he said in surprise.

"No?" Quinn asked. "What exactly did you mean, then?

"Well," Blaine started unsurely. "He's Kurt and...I'm me. We're friends."

"Yes. This is all correct so far," Quinn said. "Do you have a point coming in the next few minutes or...?"

Blaine turned his head away in frustration. "I said that because I thought _he_ would be embarrassed that someone like him could even be put in the same sentence as someone like me."

Quinn paused. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice softening.

"I mean Kurt is all-." He flailed his arms about. "_Kurt-_like_. _Allworldly and witty and edgy and beautiful and so so strong and then there's me. A weirdo who likes bow ties and goofy dancing."

Quinn looked unimpressed. "Has Kurt ever given you the impression that he doesn't like your bow ties?"

"It's never really come up," Blaine said dryly.

She shook her head in exasperation. "Anyway, my point is," she pressed on. "That those things you listed don't make one of you better than the other, just different. Though I think maybe you're selling yourself a little short."

Blaine raised his eyebrows at her. "Was that a short joke? Really?"

"A happy accident," she said, raising her hands in innocence. "I promise."

"I'm sure," he said suspiciously. "But where did this come from? Why are you saying this? Has Kurt said something about me?"

"Oh no no no no no," Quinn said, holding out a hand to stop him. "Now you're fishing."

"No, I'm not, I promise. I just want to know why you're telling me this."

Quinn sighed. "Because I saw the look on his face when you insisted - a fucking billion times I might add - that you guys couldn't possibly be more than friends. Kurt doesn't show much emotion, but I could see it."

Blaine squinted in confusion. "I saw how he looked. I didn't see it. I have seen him upset, though. I know what that looks like. I went to his house yesterday and met his dad."

"You did?" Quinn asked, her voice going up in surprise. "Rather you than me. Kurt's dad can read people terrifyingly well. Apart from Kurt, ironically enough. But anyway, you get that that's a big deal for him to take you to his house, right? This means you _really _can't fuck it up. He's trusting you."

Blaine ran his teeth over his lower lip. "With what?"

Quinn scrutinised him, before speaking softly. "Himself."

Blaine swallowed thickly against the weight that that responsibility brought. "So what do I do?"

"What do I look like, your fucking fairy godmother? Figure it out yourself."

She jumped down from the desk and with a sly wink and pinch to his cheek she was gone.

* * *

Blaine pondered Quinn's words throughout the rest of his classes that day. She had made it seem like maybe, just _maybe_, it was possible that Kurt didn't find him 100% repulsive?.

Probably more like 95 % not attracted.

_Eh. _He could work with that.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he meandered slowly through the corridors to Glee Club.

_To: Kurt (3:47pm)_

_Hey :) I was just thinking…could I bring the car in to be fixed tomorrow? I could drop you off at your shift and then we could hang out while you fix it? Or something. If you want. B x_

Blaine read it through again.

Longwinded? Definitely.

Slightly creepy that he had memorised all of Kurt's shifts? Undeniable.

And yet, hopefully, open and clear in his intentions of wanting to hang out with him.

_From: Kurt (3:50pm)_

_Okay. Meet at your car tomorrow after school._

* * *

They arrived at Blaine's car at exactly the same time the following afternoon and drove across town in relative silence. But this time it felt more comfortable. Kurt wasn't deliberately blocking him like last time. If anything, he was curled towards Blaine, fiddling with the tuning of the radio, apparently searching for a suitably 'edgy' and 'hardcore' channel. Blaine had his doubts as to whether such a channel existed in Lima.

He pulled up into the parking lot at the garage.

"Oh," Kurt said, turning to Blaine as he put his hand on the door handle. "I forgot to ask yesterday - do you have a way of getting home?"

"I thought you just had to fix the…gasket, was it? Can't you just whack a new one on?"

"Your foray into mechanics _really _wasn't that successful was it?" Kurt said, with a quirk of an eyebrow. "No Blaine, you cannot just 'whack on' a new head gasket. It's going to take quite a few hours. It'll probably be at least a couple of days before you get it back."

"Dammit," Blaine muttered. "I guess I'll have to call a cab or something to take me home."

"You can't just ask your parents?"

"No," Blaine said, suppressing the bitter laugh that threatened to escape. "No, they're away at the moment."

"Shit." Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe I could ask dad if I can give you a lift home in his truck?"

Blaine smiled gratefully. "That would be fantastic, thank you."

"That's on the condition that he actually lets me drive it, though," Kurt said. "He really fucking weird about his truck."

"Well, if not I can always get a taxi no problem." Blaine said, pulled the handle of the door open. "Right, shall we go in?"

They got out of the car, and Kurt walked around to meet Blaine on his side, holding out his hand expectantly to him.

Blaine stared at it.

Then up at Kurt.

And back at his hand.

Kurt wiggled his fingers impatiently.

Blaine's heart began to beat faster in his chest - _was this it? Was this Kurt reaching out to him?_

He leant forward and took it, weaving his fingers through Kurt's. He tried not to notice the way their fingers interlocked perfectly, seamlessly fitting together as though they were made to be this way.

"Um," Kurt said, clearing his throat and staring down at their interwoven hands. "I was just after your keys."

"Oh my God," Blaine breathed, the blood rushing to his cheeks as he snatched his hand away. "Oh my God of course you were, I'm so sorry."

He hung his head to hide his now burning face, rubbing his forehead with a clenched fist. _Oh God. _He handed Kurt the keys and took a step back.

"It's fine," Kurt said faintly. "I didn't mi-" he broke himself off and turned abruptly on his heel. "Let's go in."

Blaine stared after him_. What had just happened?_

"Are you coming?"

Blaine took a few deep breaths and jogged after him into the garage. Burt was chatting to a couple of frankly terrifying looking guys. He spotted them and made his way over to them, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "Hey buddy," he said to Kurt. Kurt walked straight past him, heading towards what seemed to be the office.

"I'm going to get changed."

Burt sighed and turned to Blaine, who was hovering awkwardly in the doorway. "Blaine, good to see ya again, kid."

Blaine smiled politely at him. "You, too, Mr Hummel."

"Burt. And you can come in, you know."

"Right," Blaine said, taking a few steps into the garage. "Sorry."

Burt raised his eyebrows in amusement. "No need to be sorry."

"No," Blaine shook his head. "Right."

Burt continued to wipe his hands on the dirty rag, undoubtedly just spreading the grime around on his hands rather than cleaning them. Blaine watched, unable to think of something to say.

He was _really _not doing very well today.

"So," he said, drawing out the vowel. "How's business going?"

Burt let out a surprised chuckle. "Not too bad at the moment, thanks for asking."

Blaine nodded again, pressing his lips together.

_Well, that topic dried up quickly._

Burt looked at him, tucked the rag into a pocket of his overalls and folded his arms across his chest. "You and Kurt talk about…stuff?"

"Um." Blaine twisted his hands unsurely. "We talk. We're friends."

Burt nodded to himself. "Good, that's good. He needs someone to talk to. God knows he won't talk to me. Or even listen to anything I have to say."

Blaine bit his lip. "If you don't mind me saying, I think that maybe he needs time? I don't know really what happened between you guys or any of that stuff, but when he's ready, he'll listen. I get the impression that you only just started trying to talk to him? You just need to keep trying." Blaine slipped his hands in his pockets, shoulder hunched forwards. "I'm sorry if I'm overstepping."

"You are," Burt said, almost yieldingly.

Blaine was saved from having to respond by the reemergence of Kurt from the office. He strode across the garage towards them, pulling up his overalls as he went. Blaine couldn't help but run his eyes up and down him as he almost strutted towards them. He looked like he belonged on a runway.

_But-_, Blaine scrunched his eyes in confusion and rechecked what Kurt was wearing. For science, naturally. White v-neck, black skinny jeans and his usual Docs. Exactly what he had been wearing before. Or was this him just displaying his inferior fashion knowledge again?

"You changed from designer t-shirt and jeans to non-designer t-shirt and jeans?" he asked doubtfully.

Kurt quirked his head to the side. "Your point?"

"Nothing, no, no point," Blaine said, holding up his hands. "Just checking."

Kurt narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. "Good." He turned to Burt. "Blaine needs his car looking at. I said I'd do it."

"Alright," Burt replied with a nod. "You want any help?"

"No," Kurt said shortly. "I think I can manage it on my own, thanks."

"Just asking," Burt sighed. "I'll be working on this Buick if you need me." He walked, back curved and defeated to the car he had been stood next to when they had arrived.

Blaine looked at Kurt. He was still watching Burt, a far-off and almost wistful expression in his eyes.

"You don't have to stay," Kurt said, flicking his eyes to Blaine. "This will probably be really boring for you."

Blaine shrugged and smiled over at him. "I wanted to hang out. Time spent with you could never be boring, anyway." Kurt rolled his eyes, but Blaine thought maybe he caught a hint of colour tinge his cheeks. But then, he'd read so many things wrongly today that he was probably just imagining it. "As long as I'm not annoying you."

"I promise I'll tell you to fuck off if you start getting annoying," Kurt said with a small smile. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

Blaine ducked his head a little bashfully. "I hope not."

Kurt's smile grew, and he gestured out to the parking lot. "I guess we should get your car then."

They collected Blaine's car and settled down for the afternoon. A stool was found for Blaine, and he sat next to the toolkit, occasionally passing a part to Kurt, but mostly talking - talking in a way he couldn't remember talking to anyone before.

He talked about Dalton, he talked about the Warblers and Sebastian (trying to not think too much about the small frown that made its way across Kurt's brow every time he mentioned the name) and didn't just give him the happy, watered-down version he usually told people. Instead he told the real version, the version were he was lost and alone for so long before ever finding any kind of feeling of belonging at Dalton. The Warblers had given him a home and made him feel needed when no-one else had, even if sometimes it got a bit much.

And his dad had taken that all away in the blink of an eye. And for what? Because he couldn't bear to see his son happy?

And Kurt really listened to everything he was saying. He offered little comment, but each time Blaine faltered, searching for words, Kurt would stop what he was doing and look at him, _really_ look at him, to show him that he was there and that he was listening.

So few people actually listened to him.

The garage slowly emptied around them as they talked, but Blaine hardly noticed. He watched, entranced, as Kurt made his way around the car, disconnecting this and tightening that, so focused on the job at hand but always with an ear on Blaine. He got lost in the task, looking far more at ease with himself and the environment around him than Blaine had ever seen.

He could sense Burt watching them as well, but dutifully paid him no attention. He knew that as soon as Kurt became aware of that he would clam up, and Blaine was relishing far too much in the occasional flash of Kurt's real grin to make him aware of their spectator.

Eventually, Burt made his way over to them. "Boys, I'm closing up for the night. Blaine - is someone coming to pick you up?"

"No," Blaine said quietly, glancing at Kurt. "I could call a cab…"

"Don't be stupid," Kurt said quickly. "Dad, can we give him a lift home?"

"Sure," Burt said, looking between them. "No problem."

Kurt gave a jerky nod of thanks at Burt and set about clearing up all the tools. Burt smiled, his eyes slightly wide in surprise as Kurt retreated back into the office.

* * *

**A/N: **So. Here we are on the other side of The Break Up. Huh.

Hopefully everyone survived to tell the tale :). Never fear for klaine you guys. They're inevitable :D.

This is by far my favourite chapter to write so far. Quinn and Blaine are a fun dynamic, and mechanic!kurt will always be one of my greatest weaknesses. (_Unf.)_

Thanks again so much for favourites, reviews and follows. Y'all are lovely :D :D. (That's the first time I've ever typed and/or said y'all. Felt good.)


	13. Chapter 13

_From:Blaine (8.24 pm)  
I had a really good time today! Thanks for tolerating my babbling, and for managing to not look completely bored out of your mind :P. B x_

_From: Kurt  
That's because I wasn't._

_From: Kurt  
Bored out of my mind, I mean._

_From: Blaine  
:D._

_From: Kurt  
Do I *look* like the kind of person who condones the use of emoticons?_

_From: Blaine  
I don't like to judge a book by its cover. Even if the cover is extremely distracting._

_From: Kurt  
…Glad to hear it. I think._

_From: Blaine  
XD._

_From: Kurt  
Okay, no. Emoticons are not to be used in lieu of a lexical response, Blaine. We are communicating via 'text messaging'. The clue's in the name. _

_From: Blaine  
You used 'in lieu' and 'lexical' in a text. A single text._

_From: Kurt  
Yes. Yes I did. Correct._

_From: Blaine  
Very few people could get away with "in lieu" in a text. _

_From: Kurt  
Lucky I'm one of those people then, isn't it?_

_From: Blaine  
It really is._

_From: Kurt  
If I used emoticons this is where I would use a smiley face. But I don't, and I refuse to start. So you'll just have to imagine it. _

_From:Blaine  
But you want to and that's the first step :P. It's a slippery slope from here, Kurt. Soon you'll be lol-ing and omg-ing with the rest of us._

"You talking to Blaine?" came a gruff voice from the doorway. Kurt didn't lift his gaze from the screen of his phone. "We only dropped him off an hour ago."

Kurt shrugged.

_From: Kurt  
Oh, the horror. Unfortunately my father just has decided to grace me with his presence. Ttyl, K._

He locked his phone with a twitch of a finger on the top and clutched it tightly in his hand. "…Do you want something, or are you just going to stand there?"

Burt nodded and moved into the room, glancing around for somewhere to sit. Kurt was occupying his usual seat of the desk chair, so he perched on the edge of the bed, surprisingly tentative for one usually so sure of himself. "I wanted to ask Carole on a date on Saturday night."

Kurt's stomach dropped, even as he jutted out his chin defiantly and worked his voice to sound as bored as he could. "I literally cannot stress the level of my apathy strongly enough.

"That's just the thing," Burt said, folding his hands calmly in his lap. "Because I want to bring you into it. I feel like this, this _thing _me and Carole have is going somewhere –"

"You got a destination in mind?" Kurt interrupted, narrowing his eyes challengingly at his father.

Burt held his gaze. "Yes, actually. I really think we could be a family one day."

Kurt snorted, dropping his eyes to the floor in front of his feet. "You, me, Carole and Finn, a family?" he said, allowing the disdain to drip thickly from each word. "Dream on."

Burt sighed, shifting his weight slightly on the bed. His gaze fell on the photo on Kurt's nightstand. "I think it's really important that we sit down and talk about this. About Carole, about your mom."

"Don't you _dare _put those two in the same sentence," Kurt snarled, hackles immediately rising. "Don't you dare."

"Kurt, I loved your mom with all my heart. Still do, in fact," Burt said with a sad smile. "It's just I really think I could love Carole, too. And that's the thing - _too. _There's not a limit on the amount of love a person has to give. It's possible… I think it's possible to have that kind of feeling for more than one person."

Kurt bit hard into the inside of his cheek, squeezing his hands together in his lap until his knuckles showed up painfully white against his dark jeans. "Well shit," he said harshly. "That just about clears everything up. You've solved everything now. Right, let's go find Carole and Finn and skip off into the sunset holding hands. I never realised it was that simple. What a fucking idiot I am."

He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the desk with shaking hands. "I'm going outside. Don't follow me."

Feeling the heavy weight of his father's eyes on him, he stormed out and down the stairs, lighting a cigarette before he was even out of the back door. He collapsed on the top step of the stairs leading down to the lawn, not even bothering to bring the smouldering cigarette to his lips as he concentrated on regulating his heaving breaths.

He battled with every intake of air, struggling to push aside the anger and sadness that seemed so desperate to overwhelm him and take control of his very being. He had gone so far, he could keep going. He would not be beaten.

Eventually, many cigarettes later, he heard the soft creaking of the door behind him. Burt walked slowly over the deck towards him and lowered himself to sit next to him on the steps. Neither spoke a word, they simply sat, side by side, staring out into the yawning darkness. Kurt curled up as tight as he could.

He realised that it must have been the longest they had sat together in years without them falling into some kind of argument.

"It's been four years, Kurt," Burt said quietly, his breath puffing out into the cold air. "You can't keep running away from this conversation. I'm not saying there's a time scale on this sorta stuff, I'm just saying that I'm at the point where I need to move on with my life. I been living in limbo for such a long time, it took me meeting Carole to realise that what we've been doing is _not_ living."

Kurt sniffed and ran a frustrated hand under his nose. "You're making her out to be this fucking saint," he said. "You need to know she's not like that. "

Burt turned to look at him. "How would you know?"

"Because she bitched behind your back to Finn about me," Kurt said with as flippant a wave of his hand as he could muster. "About that dinner we had."

Burt only sighed. "She was actually talking to me on the phone. That's how Finn heard. But he shouldn't have said anything."

Kurt angrily blinked away at the heat building behind his eyes. "But clearly it's fine for you to discuss me behind my back."

"Bud, I'm sorry," Burt reached forward to lay a hand on Kurt's shoulder, squeezing gently. "She was upset and I was trying to explain to her that you have had a tough time of it lately. Nothing more, nothing less."

"A tough time of it?" Kurt repeated hollowly, resting his chin on his knees. "Sure."

Burt kept his hand a steady pressure on Kurt's shoulder. Kurt couldn't help but feel that it added to the pressure building within him, the pressure to just give in. He gritted his teeth and flinched away from his father's touch.

"I think about Lizzie everyday," Burt said softly. Kurt didn't move, his whole body tensing in anticipation, muscles taut and twitching as he itched to just get up and _go _somewhere. Anywhere.

But he couldn't.

"I don't see how I couldn't," his father continued, watching him carefully. "I still can't bring myself to sleep on her side of the bed. If I'm getting up early to go to the garage I sometimes make her a cup of tea. She used to have it in bed after I left while she waited for you to wake up. Other people remember on the big days, those big events when we're supposed to be a family - birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving. And of _course_ they hurt. But it's the little things that hurt me most, y'know? When I look into the kitchen and half-see her there makin' some fancy cake. And then I have to remind myself again that she's gone." His father broke off with an awkward chuckle, ducking his head.

Kurt kept his head down, staring expressionlessly at his hands. He let the words wash over him, not allowing them to linger long enough so that they might permeate through his skin.

"Kurt, bud, you've gotta realise that you're not alone in this pain you're feeling," he went on. "And I get that we Hummel men aren't good about talking about our feelings. But you need to know that you can. When you're ready, that is. I think maybe Blaine was right about that."

Kurt's head snapped up at the mention of Blaine.

"Don't freak out," Burt said quickly. "He didn't say anything about you. I asked him a question and he answered. I think you're lucky to have found someone like him."

"Lucky enough to find someone willing to put up with all my shit," Kurt said bitterly, his throat thick. "I guess that's a _burden_ I can't expect from most people."

Burt sighed. "That's not what I said at all. You've gotta stop hearing what you want to hear and actually _listen_ to what I'm saying."

Kurt didn't respond, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. He was too tired to move, or to even lift his head. He dragged his nails over the grain of the deck again and again, savouring the roughness of the wood on his fingers.

Burt leant over again and rested his hand on Kurt's back. Kurt sat rigid, refusing to sink back into the touch. "On Saturday night, can you please have someone over while I'm out? I don't want you to be on your own. Quinn, Blaine, or anyone else from school. You know where I am if you want to talk."

The hand disappeared and Kurt was surprised at how much he noticed the absence of the warm body next to him. He shook his head forcefully in an attempt to clear it.

Everyone was moving on with their lives but here he was, coordinates the same for the past four years. Quinn was miraculously healed of the internal bitterness that had thrown them together in the first place, and now his father was suddenly just 'moving on'.

And there it was. Left behind.

Again.

* * *

Blaine checked the clock on the dash one more time, praying that somehow it had stepped forward an hour or so. Or, maybe, he had misread it - a 5 looks just like a 6, right?

He frowned in displeasure as _5.12 pm _blinked insolently back at him. The _one _time he needed time to be on his side, it just kept on trucking slow as ever, second by agonising second. Resting his head against the steering wheel with a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he was over an hour early. Maybe factoring in that extra hour for traffic had been just a little excessive.

He glanced up at the house in front of him. There were still no signs of life; no cars in the driveway and no movement from behind the rapidly darkening windows.

This was getting ridiculous, and sliding into new creepy territory, even for him. He picked up the tin from the passenger seat and climbed from the car. He walked purposefully over to the front door and rang the doorbell immediately. What was the big deal, anyway? He was just here to hang out with his friend. Like normal people did. It would be fine. It didn't matter that this 'friend' was _Kurt _- incredibly quick and witty and so, well, hot.. Not. At. All.

Blaine jumped as the door opened without warning. "Oh God," he said, bringing a hand to his chest in shock. "Are you some kind of ninja or some…" he trailed off as he took in the sight in front of him.

Kurt was…sweaty. And flushed. And rumpled. And _holy mother of God so much skin. _His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the hemline of his black undershirt not quite reaching it to leave exposed a slither of pale skin. He was propping the door open with a (gloriously defined) arm, eyes wide and apparently just as shocked as Blaine.

"You're early."

"What?" Blaine blinked, tearing his eyes away from the sheen on what he could see of Kurt's chest. "I-, sorry what?"

"You're really early," Kurt said, wrapping his other arm around his body. "I was just about to take a shower." He rocked onto the outside of his bare feet, scrunching his toes in towards him.

"I had…traffic issues. Or I guess lack thereof," Blaine said lamely. "Sorry. I could go and sit in the car or something. Um. Sorry." He took a step back from the house.

Kurt reached forward and grabbed his wrist. "Don't be stupid. Come in." He was dragged unceremoniously through the door.

Kurt kept his wrist in a loose grip, his hands slightly damp and clammy with sweat. Blaine found he didn't really mind it at all. "Do you mind if I go take a shower quickly? I'm really gross." Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust. "You want to watch TV or something while you wait? My dad already left for his date-" he grimaced. "-So don't worry about him randomly turning up or anything."

Blaine smiled a little tentatively and held out the tin. "Sure. I made these for you."

Kurt flicked his eyes between Blaine and the tin of cookies, his lips parting in surprise. He took the tin awkwardly in his free hand and manoeuvred the lid off, apologetically pulling his hand away from Blaine's wrist as he peering in to look at the contents. "You made me cookies?" he asked in a soft voice.

"I made you cookies," Blaine said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I love cookies," Kurt said, slightly breathlessly. "Thank you." The honest gratitude in Kurt's voice sent a bloomed warmth through Blaine's chest

"They're usually a safe bet. I was going to make muffins but I wasn't sure what your feelings would be vis-à-vis the blueberry/chocolate debate so I decided to just go with the cookies."

"Oh, always chocolate," Kurt said without hesitation. "I don't even see how there could be a debate."

Blaine grinned. "Duly noted."

They smiled at each other until Kurt ducked his head, the pink tinge in his cheeks still present, whether from…whatever it was that made him so unkempt in the first place _(don't even go there, Blaine) _or from _him _he wasn't sure.

"So," Kurt said, gesturing to the stairs. "I'm gonna go. You should…make yourself comfortable."

Blaine nodded and ducked into the living room as Kurt bounded up the stairs two at a time. He set the tin of cookies on the coffee table and collapsed back onto the couch to watch mindless TV.

Eventually he heard the soft padding of Kurt on the stairs and he appeared moments later in the doorway. His cheeks were still flushed from the shower, but his hair had been perfectly coiffed and styled in the same effortless way Blaine had become so accustomed to over the weeks. He was back in his regular (or not so regular, as Kurt would point out) skinny jeans and grey v-neck.

After a few moments of polite "What do you want to do?" "I don't mind what do _you _want to do?" back and forth they decided to make some food and just watch a movie. Kurt seemed to be very averse to ordering in, so they spent a few minutes poring over cook books at the counter in the kitchen, shoulders pressed together. Kurt nudged him excitedly when he found a recipe he liked, grabbing hold of his arm and squeezing before letting go to check if they had the necessary ingredients. The proximity and closeness and aloneness doing no great thing for Blaine's heart rate: every touch, every lingering meeting of eyes sending it escalating up until Blaine had to take a step back to just breathe.

They made dinner together in comfortable domesticity. Blaine hummed snatches of tunes and twirled around the kitchen happily as Kurt ordered him around, fetching ingredients and implements as instructed. Kurt was confident in the kitchen, sure of himself and actually seemed to be enjoying having Blaine there. Even if it was as simple as that Blaine was just a good sous-chef, it was a privilege to watch. Kurt's face was relaxed, his eyes alive and twinkling as they caught Blaine's. It was captivating.

Much to Blaine's relief, they ate in front of the TV; dinner for two at a table for two in the quiet house felt like too much pressure. And it wasn't like the conversation ever really stopped as they sat side by side on the couch, thighs occasionally grazing as they leant over to get their drinks from the coffee table.

The extent and diversity of Kurt's DVD collection surprised Blaine. A mixture of classics and modern rom-coms, action films and musicals. Kurt mumbled something about 'gifts' and 'most of them aren't even mine' but Blaine wasn't convinced. He caught sight of one, and his brow furrowed in confusion. He held it up at Kurt, his head tilted to one side in a question.

Kurt raised his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"You have a DVD of Wicked."

"You like pointing out the obvious, don't you?" Kurt said dryly.

Blaine looked at the cover again. "But there isn't a DVD of Wicked."

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "The object in your hand would beg to differ."

"No." Blaine shook his head. "You know what I mean. Is this the original Broadway cast?"

Kurt snorted incredulously. "Of course."

"You have a bootleg of Wicked, and you made a cover. That looks incredibly professional."

Kurt nodded shortly, as if Blaine shouldn't have expected anything less.

"But," Blaine floundered. "I thought you didn't like musicals."

Kurt shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Blaine could see the tension rising in shoulders and the beginnings of clenching in his jaw. "I never said that."

Blaine screwed his eyes together, trying to think back to what Kurt had said all those weeks ago. So much had changed since then

"Oh," Kurt said amiably. "If you tell anyone that I will steal all your bowties and hide them until you deny everything."

Blaine recoiled in horror. "You wouldn't!"

Kurt nodded seriously, looking him dead in the eye. "Oh, I would."

Blaine leant back, blinking in shock. He hadn't put Kurt down as-, as a_ potential_ _bow tie stealer. _This changed_ everything_.

"Blaine," Kurt said gently, reaching over to place his hand over Blaine's. "I was joking."

Blaine let out a quick huff of air, absently turning his hand over and twining their fingers together. "You should never joke about bow ties."

"I know, I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I do like them, though." Kurt reached forward and tweaked the bow tie around his neck affectionately. Blaine's eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. Kurt quickly pulled his hand back as he realised what he had done. He ran the hand through his hair and turned back to the TV with a cough. "Just, um, pick a movie."

Blaine nodded jerkily, grabbing and putting on _Singin' in the Rain_ quickly before settling back on the sofa, a safe distance from Kurt.

They watched at first in silence, letting the film wash over them, and gradually _Singin' in the Rain _worked its magic once more. Blaine sighed happily as Don tapped and crooned his way into Kathy's heart, mouthing along to all the words. He thought he might have heard Kurt humming along next to him, but every time he tried to send a surreptitious glance at him he fell silent.

"I love Gene Kelly so much," he murmured, not taking his eyes from the screen as Don sidled around a step ladder.

"No shit," Kurt said, sending him a fleeting grin. "I would have never guessed."

Blaine smoothed a hand over his hair self-consciously.

"I see it," Kurt said with a small shrug, turning to meet Blaine's eyes. "He's got a certain something, I guess."

Blaine tried in vain to moderate the size of his grin, pressing back against the couch cushions in barely suppressed glee.

* * *

Kurt woke just as a door clicked shut upstairs. He blinked blearily in the darkness. He was warm. So perfectly warm and comfortable that he never wanted to move. He shifted his arm slightly, and felt the weight of a blanket move with him. Too tired to even question how that had got there he wiggled back down into his cocoon of warmth with a soft sigh of contentment, rubbing his face sleepily against the soft cotton shirt that seemed to be acting as his pillow. His head rose up and down, soothing him gently back to sleep. The pillow twitched against him and snuffled gently in its sleep.

Kurt froze, his eyes snapping open.

_Blaine._

He was pressed into his side, apparently having shuffled down on the sofa to rest his head on Blaine's _(broad, strong) _chest. Their hands, his right and Blaine's left, were intertwined and resting on Blaine's stomach.

He lifted his head fractionally to look down at Blaine. His face was peaceful, his hair falling forward out ofthe confines of the gel. He was still wearing his bow tie. Kurt reached up slowly with his free hand and pulled it loose, smoothing it to hang flat over Blaine's shirt. He twisted the top button undone, watching the tiny bob of Blaine's Adam's apple. With a tiny shake of his head, Kurt settled back on Blaine's chest, tightening his hold on the hand and snuggling down further under the blanket and into Blaine's side.

He could claim ignorance of his actions in the morning.

* * *

**A/N: **And so, I must apologise again :(. Sorry you guys, I'm doing my absolute best to get these chapters out to you but I have a lot going on at the moment.

I hope the snuggles made up for it! I was cooing at my laptop while writing it. I feel like that's not normal behaviour :/. Oh, boys...the things you make me do.

:3


	14. Chapter 14

Kurt woke slowly the next morning, awareness rippling through his body little by little, limb by heavy limb. First he felt the chill of his foot which had slipped out from beneath the blanket. Then the weight on his leg where it had become tangled and trapped underneath Blaine's. And then… No... Yes, then the tiny circles being soothed almost unconsciously into the palm of his hand. And once he was fully awake, the undulations of Blaine's chest below him. He could feel each little exhale, every calm and measured breath, and if he looked close enough, he could see the small puffs of warm air as they teased into Blaine's curly bed-head.

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Kurt tried to control the wide smile tugging at his lips, pressing his face back into Blaine's chest with a small shake of his head. He had no idea how they'd ended up so wound up around one another, but he had absolutely no intention of bringing it to a close. He tucked his foot back under the blanket, his tummy swooping as the arch ran over the smooth skin of the top of Blaine's foot. He felt a hitch in Blaine's breathing and jerked his head up. Staring straight back at him were a pair of huge, similarly shocked eyes.

Blaine was awake.

Kurt jumped back, scrambling to disentangle himself from Blaine as he curled fully in on himself in the corner of the sofa. Blaine blinked back at him.

Kurt opened his mouth but slowly closed it again, swallowing anxiously. They stared at each other.

The corners of Blaine's mouth tipped upwards as his head tilted to the side, gaze still boring into Kurt's. Kurt couldn't help but twitch a small smile in response, twisting his hands together in his lap.

Blaine ducked his head, his smile rapidly stretching into a grin. Kurt's heart picked up speed in his chest. That was because of _him._

"Um," Blaine said, heavy with sleep as he rubbed the back of his head, grimacing when he came upon now well-matted gel. "I guess we fell asleep."

Kurt eyed the hair now sticking up wildly on the top of his head with amusement. "Captain Obvious strikes again."

Blaine looked up at Kurt through his lashes, wide grin still firmly on his face. "I'm sorry, I'm still half asleep. That was, well, that was the best night's sleep I've had in a while."

"Me too." Kurt smiled shyly across at him. "I always get really cold when I sleep. You're like a fucking radiator."

Blaine gave a small tip to an imaginary hat. "Pleasure to be of service."

Kurt barely resisted the urge to bury his surely embarrassingly wide grin into a cushion, a bubble of what could only be described as _giddiness _rising within him. _What the fuck was wrong with him_?

He needed to move. Yes, that was what needed to happen. Clear his head. Or something.

"Do you want some breakfast?" he asked, pushing himself up off the sofa and reaching his hand out to Blaine to pull him up.

Blaine eyed the hand, eyebrows furrowed seriously. "Do you want my keys or is there something else…?"

Kurt let out a surprised laugh and held out his other hand in defense. "No no, this is me offering to help you up."

"Well then," Blaine said with an exaggerated sigh, reaching forward to grasp Kurt's hand and tug himself up. "Up we go." He nearly face-planted into the coffee table as the blanket got caught up between his legs but righted himself just in time to unwind the offending fabric, muttering darkly under his breath, "I'm fine, I'm fine, _stupid-. _It's fine, nobody panic."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "I was all of a flutter," he said dryly. "Thanks for calming me down and saving me from that potential disaster."

Blaine shot him what Kurt thought was probably supposed to be a withering look. He just looked a little confused. Kurt rolled his eyes, leading Blaine out of the sitting room and through to the kitchen with a pull of their hands. And if he forgot to let go of Blaine's hand on the way?_ Well_, he thought, _he couldn't be blamed for anything that happens before his first coffee._

Kurt answered the luring call of the coffee machine, reluctantly dropping Blaine's hand as he padded across the cool tiled floor with bare feet.

There was a sharp rustling from the other side of the room. Kurt whipped around to see Burt sitting side-on to the kitchen table, legs thrown out in front of him with ankles crossed, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and the sports pages in the other. He took a casual sip of his drink and turned the page. "Morning, boys."

Kurt's hands clenched by his side. Just when everything had been going so well. _Fucking typical._

He really should have known that something would ruin it, and_ of course _that 'something' would be his fucking father. Because when was it not?

He forced his hands to relax, stretching out his fingers one by one. Blaine cleared his throat next to him. Kurt could see a flush rising from his neck all the way to the tips of his ears. Kurt turned away from them both and slumped against the counter to watch the coffee drip drip drip oh so _fucking_ slowly into the mug.

"Good morning, Mr Hummel," Blaine squeaked.

"I told ya, it's Burt," Burt said, straightening the paper. "I figure if you're gonna be spending the night wrapped around my kid we should be on first name basis."

"I-." If it was possible Blaine went even more red. "I'm sorry we just fell asleep there I wasn't actually planning on staying the night it was just going to be a movie night and then we started watching re-runs of The Bachelor and after a certain amount of time it really does start to act like a extraordinarily strong sedative and-"

"Whoa," Burt said, holding up his hand to stop him. "Kid, I was just messin' with you."

"Yeah it was really fucking funny," Kurt snapped, glaring viciously at the coffee machine. The words fell dully; the sounds swallowed as quickly as they were spoken. No-one replied. All that could be heard was the crackle and fizz of the coffee machine, the steady beat of the drops descending into a chaoticstream. Kurt glanced up to see a slight frown form over Blaine's face and Burt looking…disappointed? He looked back at the machine in front of him quickly. "Fucking ridiculous."

Burt sighed and lowered his eyes to his paper.

Kurt watched the mug slowly fill, breathing in the calming scent of the coffee beans. He became aware of Blaine, still standing in middle of the room next to the island, nervously biting on his lower lip and rocking up onto the balls of his feet. Kurt sighed and asked with a slightly softer voice, "What do you want for breakfast?"

Blaine just pressed his lips together with a tiny shrug. "Whatever you're having is good."

"Coffee is literally my breakfast most days."

"That's fine for me, then."

"Blaine," he said flatly. "Stop being polite and tell me what you want."

Blaine glanced across at Burt, who was determinately reading his paper, and then back at Kurt. Kurt rotated his hand in the air impatiently at him.

"Um," Blaine said. "I guess fruit? If you have any. It's not a big deal-" he petered off as Kurt walked to the fridge, digging around for something vaguely healthy to serve Blaine.

Kurt clattered around the kitchen, not making any sort of eye contact with anyone. A familiar anger was simmering low in his stomach, forcing him to grit his teeth and lock his jaw.

How had everythingbeen ruined everything so quickly?

Stomach churning, he presented Blaine with the best variety of fruit he could gather together, grabbed his coffee and marched from the room, beckoning for Blaine to follow him as he went. He paused by the living room door. Blaine nearly crashed into him from behind.

"I'm going to take this outside and have a cigarette," he muttered, gesturing to his coffee. "You can watch TV or something. Whatever you want." He took a step back, chewing his bottom lip in hesitation. "You know where I am." He sent Blaine a flicker of a smile and turned on his heel, unlocking the front door and stepping out into the frigid November morning.

The door didn't slam shut behind him. It bounced, loudly, and Kurt turned back to see a foot jammed between the door and the frame. Blaine slowly came into view, a hopeful smile on his face as he pulled open the door, plate of food held precariously in one hand.

Kurt turned to face the street, lowering down onto the topmost step. It was quiet, as was to be expected early on a Sunday morning, but somehow muffled, as if the snow forecast for the next week had already arrived. Blaine sat next to him, balancing the plate on his lap as he hunched over in the cold.

Blaine didn't say anything for a while, chewing thoughtfully, patiently, next to him. Kurt sipped on his coffee and dragged on his cigarette, slowly, slowly, coming back to himself. Back to how he was first thing this morning.

"Better?"

Kurt jumped a little at the sudden question. Blaine was looking at him with a mixture of concern and teasing.

"Sorry," Kurt sighed. "I need my coffee to make me a vaguely reasonable human being."

Blaine paused for a moment, ducking his head to look at his knees with apprehension. "There didn't seem to be a problem before we went into the kitchen."

Kurt gripped the mug tighter, his fingers pressing together over the now cool china. "Yeah, well."

Blaine looked at him, blinking slowly, his long lashes fanning out and catching on his lower eyelid. "You're different with him, with your dad."

Kurt took a sharp intake of breath at the bluntness of the statement, bringing a hand up to his hair and grimacing when he felt how flat and limp it was lying over his head. He scanned Blaine's face intensely, looking for any sign of accusation or judgment. But all he saw was genuine curiosity and concern in those deep amber eyes. "I'm not different with him,_" _he said eventually. "I'm different with you."

Blaine's lips parted softly in surprise, a slow, shy smile unfurling across his face. Kurt's chest swelled and he returned the smile tentatively, the corners of his mouth twitching skywards. He took a shaky breath and put down the coffee mug, standing up and dusting off his thoroughly crumpled jeans. Blaine looked up at him in question. Kurt bit the inside of his cheek and stuck out his hand to Blaine. Blaine didn't hesitate for a second, reaching up to take it. Kurt's smile relaxed. "I want to show you something."

He let them back into the house and up the stairs, his heart beating faster in his chest the closer he got to his bedroom door. He slowed, coming to a rest on the threshold, and glanced back at Blaine. Blaine smiled reassuringly up at him, giving his hand a long firm squeeze. The movement spread through the rest of Kurt's body like he had just stepped out into the warm spring sun, working through to his very bones, loosening and releasing such a deep set and long forgotten about tension from the inside out. It just felt right; fingers curled around Blaine's, palms pressing tightly together.

He went straight over to the bed, tugging at Blaine who had lagged behind, looking around him in wonder. Kurt rolled his eyes left him to it, settling himself in the middle of his bed and fidgeting nervously with his hands in his lap. They felt empty.

"I don't know what I was expecting," Blaine said, trailing a hand over the spines of the many books Kurt had out on display on the shelves.

"Some kind of a lair, perhaps?" Kurt attempted to joke. "Or maybe a cavern dedicated to Satan?"

"No, that's not it," Blaine said absently, deep in thought. "I don't know exactly what I was but this…" he smiled as he tilted his head to read the title of a CD. "…this is perfect. This is just _you_."

Kurt almost sagged with relief. Blaine could see it. Blaine could see _him_.

There really wasn't anything special about his room. It was, as Blaine had said, just him. Vogue magazines stacked as high as the old vinyl records, a snow globe of New York next to a small box filled with leather cuffs, a portrait of him and Quinn in the mirror after he had done her hair for the first time next to a picture of his mom laughing on a swing.

Blaine picked up the snow globe and shook it gently. The glitter raining down on New York reflected in Blaine's eyes so that they sparkled and shone even brighter than usual. Blaine glanced up at him and walked over to the bed to perch hesitantly on the edge. "You wanted to show me something?"

Kurt dipped his chin in assent and reached over to open the top drawer of the nightstand, bringing out the small photo album. He opened it to the first page. It was a picture of the three of them, Kurt aged ten and beaming ear to ear was wedged between the pair of them on same very sofa he and Blaine had slept on last night. He ran a finger down the edge of the page. It had been taken when they had just finished the redecoration of the room, Kurt's mom had a small patch of paint across her cheek, Kurt a dab at the end of his nose where she had bopped it playfully. His mom was wearing one of Burt's old shirts tied loosely around her waist, Kurt was dressed in similar old and baggy clothes, and Burt looked no different from usual in his cap and plaid shirt.

Kurt hesitated for a moment then handed the album over to Blaine. Blaine cradled it carefully in his hands, as if he was afraid of breaking it.

"So that's my mom," Kurt said, nodding down at the photo, swallowing in the lump in his throat. "You probably guessed, or maybe not, because you're, you know,_ you_, but, well, she died four years ago."

Blaine looked at him with impossibly sad eyes but didn't say anything, for which Kurt was grateful, lowering his eyes to run softly over the photo again and again, an almost reverent look on his face.

"She's gorgeous," Blaine said, looking up at Kurt with a gentle smile. "She looks just like you."

"Everyone says that," Kurt said with a frustrated sigh. "I don't see it."

"Just trust me," Blaine said softly. "It's there."

Kurt nodded infinitesimally and settled his elbow of his knee, watching as Blaine worked through the book in silence, occasionally asking who someone was or where they were in that photo. Kurt relaxed as Blaine stayed away from asking _those _questions, the one's that most people just couldn't help but ask.

Blaine reached the end of the album and handed it back to him with a smile. "Thank you for sharing that with me."

Kurt made a face at him. "So formal."

"Dalton," Blaine reminded him with a wink.

Kurt scoffed, leaning back against the headboard. "I was hoping I'd wheedled some of that out of you by now."

Blaine sniffed. "The world has lost too much politeness. I'm just doing my bit to restore proper etiquette and manners to America."

"I think that might be a one man mission," Kurt said dryly.

"It only takes one man."

"You're totally envisioning yourself as the next Martin Luther King aren't you?"

Blaine sat a little straighter. "Maybe not quite Martin Luther King. Maybe I'm more of a mini Barbara Walters."

Kurt snorted. "Let me know how that goes for you."

"Oh, I will." Blaine grinned, looking around the room again. He picked up the snow globe from where he had left it on the bed next to him and got up, putting it carefully back exactly where he had found it. His hand drifted to the box of leather cuffs next to it. Kurt had collected many over the years, from all manner of different places so that they all represented a different emotion, a different feeling within him. He watched warily as Blaine picked through them.

"When did you become all 'badass'?" Blaine said, turning to him. "Like, in those photos you're wearing all these vibrant crazy clothes."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Did you expect me to come out of the womb clad in a leather jacket and skinny jeans, a cigarette clenched in my teeny tiny fist?"

"No! No, just, Rachel said that in freshman year you were still like t_his-" _he gestured to the photos. "Not to say I don't like it but what changed?"

Kurt fixed him with an icy stare. '_What changed?' Seriously?_

"Just because your style hasn't changed since you were five doesn't mean everyone else's hasn't."

Blaine drew back at the venom in Kurt's words. "I-, wow. Okay. I thought-. Never mind." Blaine pressed his lips together into a tight smile, arms crossing defensively across his body and he got to his feet. "I should probably go," he muttered, reaching with one hand to rub the back of his neck. "Thank you for having me."

A ball of fear wormed its way into the base of Kurt's stomach as Blaine started towards the door. _Don't screw this up._

"I don't want you to go," he said quietly.

Blaine turned back to face him, an incredulous expression on his face. "Well maybe you shouldn't have insulted me, then."

Kurt sat up stiffly. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just-, am really fucking bad at talking about this stuff. It was a really big deal for me to talk about my mom with you."

"I know," Blaine said, eyes softening. "And it means so much to me that you did. Just, how about next time you don't want to talk about something you tell me just that, and not insult me?"

Kurt ran a shaky hand over his forehead. "Yes. Good. I will do that. Sorry. I really do like the way you dress." He sent Blaine a hopeful smile.

Blaine relaxed into a grin. "Thank you. Although I probably should actually go."

"Oh," he said, not managing to quell the thought that _yet again_ he had scared someone off. He wiggled forward and got to his feet, hovering awkwardly next to Blaine.

Blaine smiled up at him, completely back at ease. Kurt wished he had the same bounce-back ability. He still felt jittery, nervous tension thrumming through him.

"I look forward to the next movie night," Blaine said with a bashful smile. "Maybe we can watch Wicked and I can find out just how much of a Broadway-buff you are." He leaned in conspiratorially. "I get the feeling that you know a lot more about it than you like to give off."

"Do you now?" he smirked. "I guess we'll just have to see."

Blaine grinned again. "I guess we will. So, until next time."

Kurt nodded, expecting Blaine to go. But he didn't move. They stood in front of each other, avoiding each other's gaze, smiling nervously when they caught it by accident. Kurt shuffled his weight between his feet. _Do something do something do something do something please do something._

Blaine eventually rolled his eyes and reached forward, slipping his arms around Kurt's waist and pulling him in. Kurt stiffened, arms hanging limply by his side. Blaine tucked his chin up on Kurt's shoulder, squeezing him gently, coaxing him.

Kurt held his posture for a moment longer, but Blaine seemed to sense his reluctance and sighed, digging his fingers into Kurt's back and tugging him in. Kurt could feel the heavy beat of Blaine's heart in his chest, the warmth radiating from him just like the night before and before he knew it he slumped forward into the embrace, arms coming up to cling around Blaine's neck. He leant his head against Blaine's and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

_Maybe he hadn't screwed this up after all._

* * *

**A/N: **Shhhhhhnnugggglllleeeeesssss ss. These silly boys are so in love. sigh. (so close you can almost taste it...)

Hearing feedback from you guys is so wonderful. Thank you so much to anyone who has taken the time to review, I really really appreciate it. But love and hugs go to ALL of you who have read it, followed it, favourited it, or are just happy lurkers :). (I am often that happy lurker.) (XD).


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: *sidles up to ff***

***waves***

**I'm going a bit wacky and posting a pre-chapter author's note this time. It doesn't feel right to put it at the end. (You'll see why.) I hope you're still with me and I can only apologise for the delay. End of the semester craziness :(. **

**I really hope you enjoy this chapter and I love hearing your feedback so much :).**

* * *

Now that Blaine had reached out to Kurt, felt his body against his, it had become impossible to keep control of the urge, the _need, _to always be touching him - a small squeeze of the hand in thanks, a pat on the knee in parting, a hug in greeting - Blaine couldn't stop himself. And Kurt still seemed surprised every time Blaine did try and initiate physical contact, as if disbelieving in the fact that Blaine _still _wanted to be there with him. Kurt would stiffen as soon as he touched him, his body a tangled knot of tense muscles under Blaine's steady hand. Blaine only wished he knew how to make him more relaxed with him.

But then yesterday, _Kurt _had hugged _him_. He had wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck and tucked his face there, just for a second, sending such a pleasant swoop through Blaine's tummy that he hadn't been able to remember what he was supposed to do his hands before Kurt had pulled away and began walking up to school. Blaine had stood, rooted to the spot and blinking rapidly after him. Kurt had noticed Blaine wasn't next to him and turned back to face him, a small smile on his face as he beckoned to him with a small jerk of the head and a wiggle of the fingers. Blaine's heart sped up just thinking about it, an irrepressible grin forming on his face. He had no idea if Kurt had even realised that he had done it; it had just felt no natural, so right. Kurt was trusting him enough to allow him to be close. He told him stuff. He helped him out. And it hadn't escaped Blaine's notice that Kurt didn't grant these honours to everyone. Maybe even he was the only one. And they _were_ honours, but at the same time they filled Blaine with an aching and unshakable sadness.

But try as he might, Blaine couldn't span the wall that Kurt had so carefully constructed around himself. He wanted so badly for Kurt to just let him in; didn't know what more he could do to show that Kurt really could trust him. _Baby steps, _he kept reminding himself. Kurt had _hugged _him yesterday. When he had met him on that staircase months ago, he would never have envisaged that even that could happen. But the closer he got to Kurt, the more he wanted to know.

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a short, sharp jab to the ribs. Blaine scowled over at Mike, who was staring straight ahead, leaning casually back into his seat. "What was that for?" he asked, rubbing at his side.

Mike turned to him with a wide, innocent look in his eyes. "What was what for?" Blaine raised his eyebrows as Mike flashed him a grin. "Come on, man. You had your patented 'dreaming of Hummel' face on."

Blaine folded his arms, leaning back in the chair with a quiet huff. "I do not have a 'dreaming of Kurt' face.

"Dude, acceptance is the first step to recovery. Well, either that or you just _tell him how you feel." _Mike gave him a pointed look.

Blaine cast his eyes to the ceiling in derision at the very idea.

"I'm serious, man. It worked for me and Tina."

"Yes," Blaine said with a sigh. "But you and Tina are perfect for each other. Kurt is so far out of my league it's ridiculous. And I don't even think he wants a relationship at all. We don't really talk about that kind of stuff."

"You won't know until you talk to him," Mike said with a shrug,as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Blaine wished he were half as easy going as Mike. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"The worst that could happen?" Blaine repeated slowly. "The worst thing that can happen is that I completely freak him out with this ridiculous notion I have of what I really want from him and then he'll never speak to me again."

"How can you know what he wants if you've never talked about it properly?" Mike challenged.

Blaine opened his mouth to respond, but before he could formulate an answer Mr Shue had clapped his hands loudly at the front of the class.

"Guys, guys," Mr Shue snapped his fingers at them. "Pay attention. New Age Rapweek is _important_."

Blaine barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Is that even a thing?" he said out of the corner of his mouth. Mike smirked.

Blaine had the feeling Mr Shue was beginning to scrape the bottom of the barrel for still, much to his chagrin, no Katy Perry Week as of yet. Maybe Blaine could bring it up. Just quietly at the end of the period. Glee Club had been sorely lacking in Pop Divas as of late.

As the rehearsal drew to a close, Rachel jumped to her feet and bustled to the front of the class. "Mr Shue, if I may?" She barreled on without waiting for an answer. "I have decided, that in an effort to unite the club as one, and so that we can reach our full potential at Regionals in the new year, I am going to have a party!" She clapped her hands together enthusiastically in front of her, beaming around the room at them.

They all stared back at her, dull-eyed and overwhelmingly uninterested.

She dropped her hands heavily to her sides. "Come on, guys. This will be _fun_. We can even do karaoke! _And_ you are more than welcome to invite Significant Others who may or may not-" she gave Blaine a pointed look. "-Be part of Glee Club."

Blaine looked at her with wide eyes, startled that Rachel had singled him out. "I don't have a significant other," he said to the room at large. Mike looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"Shut up," he muttered. But he could ask Kurt. Maybe. It could be fun.

Maybe.

Finn glanced around back at him. "Rach, if you want this party to be about glee club bonding then why would you invite people from outside of glee club?"

"I don't mind if other people go," Tina said with a shrug. "It's not like we're going to have a raging keg party." She turned to Rachel in dawning alarm. "Right?"

Rachel looked a little flustered. "Of course not. It will be an elegant soiree at my house with added karaoke fun."

Puck snorted. "Sounds like a snooze-fest. I think I'll pass."

"They'll be no passing!" Rachel said imperiously. "It is a mandatory Glee Club Event."

There was a murmur of incredulous mutterings around the group, but no-one else spoke up.

"Yay!" Rachel clapped his hands together again. "This is going to be so much fun."

* * *

Blaine's opportunity to ask Kurt came much quicker than he had imagined. He caught sight of the familiar shock of hair peaking out of the front of the grey beanie after school, his back ram-rod straight and retreating fast across the parking lot. Blaine scampered after him, calling out his name. Kurt didn't even twitch, his headphones jammed over his beanie, shutting out bustle of the lot all too successfully. Blaine made a not to talk to him about the dangers of listening to loud music on headphones in an unpredictable vehicular zone.

Blaine caught up with him and reached out a hand, closing his fingers around Kurt's bicep. Kurt jumped and swung around, wrenching off his headphones and Blaine's loose grip in one violent flinch. Blaine smiled with a small shrug. "Sorry, I called you, but…" He gestured to the headphones now resting on Kurt's collar bones.

"It's fine," Kurt said, reaching down into his pocket to turn his music off. He looked to meet Blaine's eyes with a a warm smile. Blaine allowed himself a moment to bask in it, warming him to his very bones.

"I was just heading off," Blaine said, biting gently on the side of his mouth. "I could give you a lift home if you wanted?"

Kurt's lip twitched in sync with the sharp point of his eyebrow. "This is just you inviting yourself over to my house again, right?"

Blaine ducked his head with a huff of laughter. "Pretty much," Blaine said, glancing up with a bashful smile.

"Of course you can come over." He nudged Blaine with his shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You are really aiding my laziness, you know. I'll know who to blame when I become clinically obese and you'll have to literally roll me to school."

"Walking those two blocks to school and back really make all the difference?" Blaine asked, eyebrows raised. Kurt tipped his chin up and gave a defiant nod. "And," Blaine continued, leaning in to Kurt. "I don't think you're in danger of being anything other than incredibly ho-, um, toned in the near future." Blaine turned his face away, colour flushing up his neck. He gestured vaguely to his car and drifted towards it without another word. After a moment, Kurt followed.

They drove the couple of blocks to Kurt's house in comfortable silence. By now, Kurt didn't even comment on Blaine's musical choices, simply turning to bestow a devastatingly withering look at him whenever a particularly questionable song began playing. Blaine just smiled benignly at him, knowing that Kurt didn't really object, that he enjoyed imparting playful judgment.

They let themselves into the empty house and had their usual coffee, curling up on the couch in front of the TV. Warmth bloomed through Blaine as he realised _they had a usual thing together_. An effortless, natural _routine_. They talked easily, on and off as they paid attention to the TV and then lost interest during the commercials, even if Kurt did claim that they were, in fact, more entertaining than the programmes themselves. They eventually lapsed into silence as the coffee mugs grew cold in their hands.

"So, Rachel's having a party," Blaine said, as offhand as he could manage.

Kurt hummed his acknowledgment, eyes still forward.

"I think it's some kind of celebration." He furrowed his eyebrows. "Of Glee, I think." Blaine glanced at Kurt. Nothing.

Blaine sighed. "She said we could bring people. Maybe, if, you know, we wanted to bring someone…um." He swallowed. "Someone who is a person."

Kurt turned slowly towards him, a smirk playing around his lips.

"And," Blaine stumbled on. "I was wondering if you would do me the honour of being, um, that person." He winced away from his own words, gripping the mug tightly in his hands. Cautiously, he raised his eyes.

"Let me get this straight," Kurt said, narrowing his eyes a little. "You are asking me to accompany you to this party on the grounds that I am a _person_."

"Well," Blaine said, clearing his throat. "That's about the gist of it, yes."

"And all of your Glee Club will be there?"

"I believe so."

Kurt shifted. "Finn?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but Blaine held up a hand quickly to stop him. "But also Mike and Tina. They're both really sweet. And Sam's a nice guy."

"The hot one with suspiciously well-defined blonde hair?"

An unexpected wave of angry heat flared through Blaine's stomach. "Sam is blonde," he said, nodding jerkily. "Also, very very straight."

Kurt's lips quirked in amusement. "Doesn't mean I can't enjoy the view."

Blaine sat back into the sofa, crossing his arms with a scowl.

Kurt nudged him gently. "I'll come to your party with you if you want."

Blaine brightened immediately. "Really?"

"Really," Kurt confirmed. "Although few things fill me with as much trepidation as the prospect of going to the house of one Rachel Berry."

"Oh, don't worry," Blaine said, relaxing back once more. "She's really not that bad. And as soon as you mention that you're a _Wicked_ fan she'll be you're best friend."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"She has got a good heart. She can just be a little…overwhelming."

"Overbearing, more like," Kurt muttered with a snort.

Blaine prodded Kurt gently in the ribs. "Be nice."

Kurt blinked innocently up at Blaine. "When have I ever not been nice? That doesn't seem like something I would do."

Blaine shook his head with a smile. "It really doesn't," he said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt's hand.

* * *

Blaine drew himself up, taking a deep breath as he smoothed his hands over his hair and tweaked his bowtie so it lay just-so under his chin. He darted aside to check his reflection in the window, tugging down the sleeves of his coat with his fingers and stepping back to the door to reach up to press the doorbell.

Blaine took a small step back in surprise as the door swung open immediately. Kurt was already there, leaning against the doorframe with an amused smirk on his face.

"You having trouble locating the doorbell?" he asked, clamping his lips together, the tips of his mouth twitching up.

"I-," Blaine said. "_No._ I was just running some last minute…checks."

Kurt tilted his head to the side as if intrigued. "You were stood out there an awfully long time. On what, exactly, were you running checks?"

"My, er, me."

"Your you?"

"Yes," Blaine said, getting more and more flustered. He ran his clammy hands down his thighs. "My me."

Kurt grinned and stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him. "You look cute," he said over his shoulder. "Don't worry."

Blaine blinked. _Cute, Kurt had just called him cute. But, cute as in a kitten you want to snuggle with or cute as in 'roar I want you'? You know what? _Blaine thought, _I'll happily take either at this point._

Blaine watched as Kurt walked - sauntered, really - away towards his car and _holy wow those were some tight pants. _Blaine immediately berated himself for having been so caught up in his own embarrassment that he didn't notice them before. He had denied himself valuable minutes of _Kurt in those pants._ He unconsciously licked his lips, his eyes glazing over.

"Are you coming?" Kurt's voice shocked him out of his reverie. He was now leaning over the hood of the car, his chin resting on his fist and looking up at Blaine with big doleful eyes. "You're kind of vital in all stage of in this whole driving your car to the Glee Club party thing," he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth and tilting his head from side to side.

Blaine laughed, ducking his head as he jogged across to the car. Kurt had pursed his lips, tapping his fingers sequentially over the metal.

"One might almost think you _wanted _to go to this party," Blaine remarked, flashing Kurt a grin.

Kurt ceased his tapping and snatched his hand away from the car. "Well, one must be a little off in the head, then."

* * *

Rachel's house was just a short drive away from Kurt's, but when they got there the driveway was already overflowing cars out onto the street. Blaine parked up against the curb and jumped out, practically bouncing around the front of the car to Kurt's side. Kurt was slower in exiting the car, swinging his long legs around and slowly slipping down onto the concrete. Blaine held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. "Let's go in."

Kurt clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair before taking Blaine's hand. As they walked up to the house together, Kurt kept fidgeting with his free hand, popping the collar of his denim jacket, twirling an earring and twisting the leather cuff fastened loosely around his slender wrist. Blaine squeezed his hand a little tighter.

They made their way down to the basement. Finn was stood with his back to the stairs, talking to Rachel. Rachel spotted them and beamed, running over to greet them. Finn turned slowly, a petulant expression on his face.

"Welcome welcome," Rachel said, spreading her arms. "Blaine, Kurt, welcome to my humble abode. Finn here will be happy to take your coats. You will have noticed that the party is already in full swing, but no need to worry: if anyone understands the concept of being fashionably late it's me." Blaine raised his eyebrows, and heard Kurt snort quietly next him as he glanced around the room. The rest of the Glee Club were spread around on the various couches and in some kind of kitchenette area, talking quietly amongst themselves. In the background, unless Blaine was very much mistaken, a Barbara Streisand CD was playing out. He hadn't been to many parties, but he had the feeling that not even _he _could class this as a 'in full swing'. To say the very least.

"There is punch over in the kitchen, and some nibbles for you to enjoy as well!"

Blaine nodded and smiled at her in thanks, dropping Kurt's hand and slipping his coat off, handing it over to Finn. Kurt didn't so much as look at Finn, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and rocking back on his heels.

Rachel bustled off, leaving Kurt and Blaine hovering at the bottom of the stairs. Kurt stood tall and unresponsive, closed off.

"Do you want to sit down? I could get us some drinks from the kitchen."

Kurt raised his chin a little in consent and wandered over to the couch. Blaine watched him for a moment, his lips pursed in thought. He shook his head with a sharp exhale of air and meandered his way over to the small group surrounding the drinks and food.

Blaine got pulled into a discussion with Tina, but watched from the corner of his eye as Mike approached Kurt. Kurt didn't move from his position, eyes on the floor by his feet. Mike tried for a few moments, a forced expression on his face, but Blaine could see he was getting nothing from Kurt. Eventually Mike left, a slight frown on his face.

Blaine excused himself from his conversation, grabbing the drinks and made his way over to Kurt, catching Mike halfway across the room.

"I tried," was all Mike said, with a shrug, walking past him to hug Tina from behind.

Blaine sighed, casting his eyes back over Kurt. Kurt had a bored and disinterested look plastered across his face, but Blaine could see through it. He could see the small twisting of his hands in his lap, could practically hear the tension thrumming through his body. Blaine took a breath and walked over to the couch, sinking down next to Kurt and placing the drinks on the low coffee table. He reached over and placed his hands over Kurt's.

He felt Kurt relax the smallest amount, allowing his body to sink into the couch.

"So, I was just thinking of the perfect song that you could sing later," Blaine said, nudging Kurt with his shoulder.

"What?" Kurt asked, blinking across at Blaine.

"A song. For the karaoke later on."

"The-, what?"

"Karaoke," Blaine said. "I'm told it's a necessity of the Rachel Berry Party Experience."

Kurt looked at Blaine fully, narrowing his eyes with an accusing glare. "I wasn't warned there was going to be _karaoke._"

Blaine grinned, a little evilly. "I may have accidentally on purpose forgotten to mention it."

"Because you knew there was no fucking chance in hell I would ever go to a party with karaoke _and _the Glee Club?" Kurt said, puling his hands sharply out from under Blaine's.

"Woah," Blaine said. "Hey, no. I didn't think it would be that much of a big deal. No-one's going to make you sing."

As if on cue, the music shut off and Rachel stepped up onto the stage. _Wait. _There was a _stage. _In Rachel's _basement. _

"So now that everyone's here, I thought we could really start things off properly with a song or two from yours truly."

There were barely suppressed groans from around the room, but Rachel didn't seem fazed at all. She signaled for Finn to start the song.

Blaine felt Kurt immediately stiffen next to him as the music began to play. He could feel Kurt becoming increasingly tense by the second, locking and unlocking his ankles, twisting his hands in lap and flicking his eyes between Rachel and the foot of the stairs so fast his pupils became a blur of blue. Blaine laid a hand on the top of his thigh and squeezed, but it was so unforgiving under his hand that he doubted Kurt felt it at all.

Rachel hit the chorus, voice soaring out through the room, and in a second Kurt bolted, jumping up as if he had been given an electric shock. He darted across the room and up the stairs out of sight.

Blaine froze, blinking once, twice, and then scrambled to his feet. He could feel the eyes of the rest of Glee club on him, but he ignored them. He followed Kurt up the stairs and out of the front door, left open in Kurt's haste to leave.

"Kurt!" Blaine called, the cold air catching in his lungs as he ran along the path leading down to the street. "Wait up!"

Kurt was slowing ahead of him, staggering to a stop on the sidewalk. He bent over, propping himself up with his hands on his knees and wheezed, shuddering breaths ripping through his body violently. Blaine's footfalls were heavy as he drew up beside him. He caught a glimpse of Kurt's tear streaked face, contorted as he struggled for breath.

Blaine crouched down next to him, his heart beating rapidly in his chest and put a hand on his back, soothing circles into the rough material of Kurt's denim jacket. "Breathe, Kurt," He murmured, controlling his voice into as soothing a tone as possible. "It's okay, just breathe."

Kurt drew in a great shuddering breath and gave a shaky exhale, hitching again as he ran a trembling hand over his forehead. Blaine kept up his steady rhythm and quiet murmurings, not sure what else he could do. Slowly, ever so slowly, Kurt controlled his breathing, the heaving of his chest calming. He straightened up, swiping at his eyes.

"Sorry," he rasped, turning away from Blaine. "I-. Sorry."

Blaine reached forward for Kurt's hands, squeezing them gently as he searched out Kurt's gaze. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Kurt refused to look at him, biting his lip hard. "Still."

Blaine watched him carefully. Kurt was shifting on the spot, running his hands through his hair and looking anywhere but Blaine, eyes shifting from the dark tarmac at their feet to the deep heavens above. He pushed angry tears away dismissively, but as soon as they were cleared still more replaced them.

"Oh, come here," Blaine said, stepping forwards and enveloping him in a warm hug. Kurt clung immediately to Blaine's back. Blaine rested his chin on Kurt's shoulder, tucking his nose inside the collar of his jacket. He held Kurt close to his body and allowed him to breathe, feeling Kurt's heart beat against his. Blaine closed his eyes and just listened to their combined rhythms, sometimes synchronised and sometimes in syncopation, moving towards each other and then retreating, together and then apart, but always, _always,_ complimenting each other. He rubbed his chin down into Kurt' shoulder reassuringly, digging his fingers into Kurt's back.

He didn't know how long they stood there, dimly illuminated in the orange lamplight of a nearby driveway.

He was willing to stay all night.

Eventually, Blaine felt Kurt move against him and he pulled back, just a fraction, so that he could look Kurt in the eye. Kurt's face was blotchy, the well-worn tracks of tears glistening in the pale light. Blaine ran his thumbs across Kurt's cheeks, brushing aside a couple of stray tears. Kurt stared straight back at him, incredibly still and incredibly close. Blaine let his hands fall gently down the sides of Kurt's neck, his fingers skimming across smooth skin in a gentle caress. Kurt shivered against him.

"Feeling a little better?" Blaine asked quietly.

Kurt gave a glimmer of a smile and looked up, as if drawing some kind of strength. "That song-, that Rachel sang?" he asked, glancing back at Blaine. "That's one of my Unsafe Songs."

Blaine frowned in confusion, tilting his head.

"My mom, she—used to sing it to me," Kurt whispered. "She used to sing it when I felt bad. I just-, I can't listen to it. I wasn't expecting it so I just-" he broke off with a shake of the head. "-Can't."

Blaine rubbed his hands up and down Kurt's arms. "Okay," he said. "That's okay."

Kurt just stared at him, running his eyes over Blaine's face, as if trying to figure him out. Blaine just smiled back at him, letting him do…whatever it was he wanted to do.

Kurt blinked. "I'm so sorry I must look absolutely gross."

Blaine reached forward, tipping Kurt's chin up with his fingers to force him to look at him. His chest swelled as he said simply, "You're always beautiful to me."

Kurt's eyes widened a fraction, but he quickly rolled his eyes with a wet sniff. "Shut up."

"No," Blaine said steadily. "I mean it."

Kurt's lips parted with a soft exhalation, the warm breath tickling Blaine's skin. He licked his lips, noticing with a jolt how intently Kurt was looking down at them.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Blaine leaned forward, flicking his eyes between Kurt's still wide blue eyes and his lips. Blaine brought up his hand to caress the side of Kurt's face, the tips of his fingers grazing through the short hair behind his ear and his thumb running down the front of his ear, catching on a couple of his piercings as he went. Blaine's eyelids fluttered closed as he closed the gap between them.

Blaine's mouth brushed against Kurt's, their cold, dry lips barely whispering together before Kurt drew back with a sharp intake of breath. Blaine blinked his eyes open, a heavy weight sinking slowly through him. He swallowed and held out a hand to Kurt, but Kurt shrank back further, retreating from the warm circle of Blaine's arms. Blaine let the hand drop to his side.

"I thought-," Blaine said, his voice cracking as Kurt took a step back. "I thought that you wanted me to. I'm so sorry please don't go. That was my mistake, my stupid _stupid _mistake. I-, please stay." Kurt shook his head, backing away. Blaine searched Kurt's face desperately for a sign, any sign as to what he had done wrong, but he couldn't read it. "I didn't mean to do that, I'm so sorry, _Kurt please come back._"

But Kurt shook his head again, keeping his gaze on the floor at Blaine's feet. "I did want you to," he said so quietly that Blaine was almost sure he had imagined it. "But you didn't. Not really."

"Don't I get to decide that?" Blaine asked, hearing his voice get higher and thicker with every word. He pressed his finger in to his chest. "Me. My choice."

Kurt clenched his jaw and wrapped an arm around his body, squeezing at his bicep tightly with his hand until the knuckles glowed white. "But you wouldn't. You—you expect certain from me and I can't-" he broke off again, pointing his chin up further and casting his face in shadow.

"Can't what?_ Talk to me."_

There was a flash of something in Kurt's eyes, something maybe a little like longing but before Blaine could focus on it was gone, replaced by a hard glaze that Blaine couldn't penetrate. "Talking can't change anything, Blaine." He turned abruptly on his heel and strode off down the street, chin jutting out and hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Blaine's breath stuttered in his throat and he clenched his hands together, helplessly watching Kurt walk away.

Kurt didn't look back once.


	16. Chapter 16

_To: Kurt (10.08 am)  
Can we please talk about yesterday? - B x_

_To: Kurt (11.27 am)  
I promise talking *can* really help. Please? Try me?_

_To: Kurt (11.42 am)  
I'll always be here if you do want to talk at some point. I'm really sorry if I upset you. I guess I'll see you at school. -B x_

Blaine stared down at the messages he had sent earlier in the day, his thumb caressing the screen as if could somehow reach Kurt through it. His eyes were still raw and bloodshot from crying and he had yet to get dressed, choosing instead to indulge his self-pity via _Singin' in the Rain _and ice-cream. If he was wallowing, he was going to do it properly.

He had absently observed the diminishing light from his bundle of covers on the bed, not even bothering to turn the light on.

What was the point?

Blaine hadn't been able to face going back into the party after Kurt had left, so he had texted Mike to bring out his coat and keys and headed straight for home, brushing off Mike's attempts to ask him what was wrong. He hadn't heard anything from Kurt, his phone lying dark and mocking him in its ongoing silence. He just wanted to know what he had done wrong, why Kurt wouldn't talk to him. He drew the blanket over his head and buried his face in his pillow with a smothered groan. All he wanted was to get an inkling of what was going on in that perfectly-coiffed head of his.

Blaine's stomach grumbled angrily, reminding him that he hadn't actually eaten anything that day. With a groan, he threw the covers back and trudged over to the door, swaying a little in the head rush of standing up after being horizontal for so long. He ran a hand through his wild hair and straightened his thoroughly crumpled pajamas.

His phone rang, the tone muffled but still clear in the silent house. Blaine whirled around and almost dived for his bed, scrambling through the covers to find the source of the ringing. He gave a triumphant "Aha!" as he saw the bright light of his phone. And there on the screen was Kurt, candid and bright with a twinkle in his eye; the photo taken on that first day in the car outside the garage.

He hastily tapped 'accept' and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Blaine!"

He could barely pick out the familiar voice over heavy bass. "Kurt?"

"Yes!" Kurt exclaimed. "It's me! Kurt!"

"O-kay," Blaine said hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

"I am GREAT!" Blaine took the phone a few inches away from his ear at the volume of Kurt's reply. "A man with incredibly questionable dress sense bought me drinks. _Blue _ones, Blaine. It made my tongue go blue, too!" Kurt descended into completely indecipherable speech. Blaine guessed he was trying to look in the mirror at his tongue at the same time as talking to him.

"Kurt," he said firmly.

Kurt stopped his nonsensical chatter and made a little chirp of acknowledgment.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Just-." A pause. "Um, _that _many."

"Are you holding up your fingers?" he sighed.

Kurt snickered. "Yup. Oops. I don't know how many. Less than one hand?"

Blaine scratched the back of his neck, trying to think what to do."Kurt, can you promise me something?"

"Maaaaybe," Kurt replied coyly.

"Please promise me you won't have any more drinks."

Kurt huffed. "Booooring. I'm doing this for _you_. Rude that you would want me to stop."

"What are you doing for me?" he asked.

"Now now, Blainereeno, that would be telling."

Blaine took a deep breath. "Can you at least tell me where you are?"

A pause. Then, "_It's so so so scandalous,_" Kurt sang before descending into laughter.

Blaine scrunched up his nose. "Are you at Scandals?"

Kurt didn't reply, the noise from the other end of the line increasing as the phone was apparently taken from his ear. Blaine could just make out Kurt's giggle again and another man's voice.

"-Laine?"

"Yes, I'm here," Blaine said patiently, even though his heart was starting to beat faster in his chest.

"Imma go now this gorgeous man right here-" Kurt faded slightly as he apparently took the phone from his ear again.

"Kurt."

All Blaine could hear was the muffled conversation and _thump-thump-thump _of the music.

"Kurt?!"

The call disconnected with a soft but finite click.

Blaine swore under his breath.

_Crap._

He had no idea what to do. At the moment Kurt just sounded like he was having fun. And Kurt was definitely in need of some fun. But how could he just leave him there?

Blaine rubbed his eyes in frustration and unlocked his phone again, calling a number he had hoped he wouldn't have to call.

The tone rang on until a gruff voice answered. "H'lo?"

Better to be labeled as 'uptight' than risk something happening to Kurt.

* * *

Blaine and Burt pulled up across from Scandals and sat for a moment in silence, staring out across the street. Blaine had never been before, but had heard just enough from Sebastian to be sure that it was exactly the kind of place he wanted to avoid. Desperate men looking for some form, _any form_, of comfort, determined to forget their daily lives just for a few hours. And then to pair that with an impossibly hot, _young, _and drunk Kurt was a recipe for disaster.

It fit the picture Blaine had built up in his head. It was a dingy building, dark and undistinguished. It seemed to absorb light away from the street so that all that was visible was the harsh white lamps illuminating the doorways. A couple of men were loitering outside by the exit, smoking and leaning against the grimy walls, eyes narrowed as they watched the door. Blaine scrutinised them as he reached for the door handle, but was held back by a hand on his shoulder. "Do you want me to come with you?" Burt asked. "I don't like the look of some of these guys. You're sure Kurt said he was okay?"

Blaine gave a quick nod. Hopefully, Kurt was. "With all due respect, sir, I think he might respond better if it's just me," he said with an apologetic quirk of his lips. "I'll call if I need any…help."

Burt nodded, a defeated expression in his eyes, and slumped back in his chair as he gestured for Blaine to leave. Blaine headed towards the dark club, keeping his head down and shoulders hunched, avoiding the silent weight of the men's gaze. He approached the entrance, heart sinking even further when he saw a man guarding the door. He hadn't even thought about getting an ID.

But it wasn't even a problem, and he was waved in without so much as a glance.

It didn't make Blaine feel any better.

He entered the main room of the bar, squinting through the darkness to try and locate Kurt, scouring the gloom for a glimpse of pink. Something tugged forcefully on the bottom of his shirt. He jumped away, looking for the source of the pulling. Kurt was grinning up at him from where he was sat on a sofa, heavy-lidded and loose and reaching out to him with grabby hands. Blaine let out a deep breath. Kurt was here. He was okay.

Kurt was okay, but also_ in another man's lap_. Blaine ran wary eyes over the man. He looked to be older, much older, dusty brown hair falling down over cool grey eyes. Blaine was pleased to see the man was looking thoroughly disgruntled.

"-Wuz jus talkin' bout you," Kurt slurred, slapping his hand repetitively into Blaine's, giggling when he missed and hit the couch instead. Blaine opened up his hand and clung on to Kurt the next time he made contact.

"How about we go home?" Blaine said hopefully, giving Kurt's hand a squeeze. _Maybe this could be easy._

"Blaaaaaine," Kurt whined, snatching back his hand. "No fun. Les _dance._" He attempted to get to his feet, scrabbling at the man behind him to try and shove himself up. The man pushed Kurt up, looking like he couldn't wait to be free of him. Kurt fell heavily into Blaine's arms and the man got up quickly, leaving with a brusque "he's all yours" over his shoulder.

Blaine clung onto Kurt, not entirely sure what to do with an armful of very drunk boy. Kurt was muttering under his breath, leaning on Blaine and picking absently at his bow tie. Kurt looked up suddenly, eyes blinking and widening to try and bring him into focus. "Hello."

Blaine smiled gently down at him. "Hi, Kurt."

Kurt's gaze dropped to Blaine's lips. He reached up with one hand to touch them, reverently drawing Blaine's dry bottom lip down with a finger until it popped back into place. "-Kissed you. I liked it." He giggled again. "And you're not a girl."

Blaine scrunched his forehead in confusion. "No, no I'm not."

"Katy Perry!" Kurt said, hitting him on the chest in protest with much more force than Blaine expected. "Thas Katy Perry. Your favourite. It's like the song." He began to sing again, managing to hit the notes perfectly and clearly even through his drunken stupor.

Blaine's heart contracted in his chest. _This boy._ He quickly shook himself out of it. "Alright, yeah, I get it. And yes you did," Blaine said, grabbing Kurt's hand, which was wandering lower and lower down his chest and around his back. "But I don't think this is a great time to go into this. How about we get you to bed, okay?"

Kurt blinked up at him. "Bed w- you?"

"Um." Blaine blushed. "No, no, just you. On your own. In your bed."

"Nope," Kurt said clearly, popping on the 'p'. "I wan cuddles. Why don't you wan cuddles?" He shifted in Blaine's arms, looking up at him pitifully. Blaine tried to heft him up a little.

"Let's go outside okay? Out of here."

"-S what that guy wanted. Go outside. But -s too cold."

Blaine squeezed his eyes closed and took a breath. Kurt didn't seem to even realise what he'd managed to escape. "Yeah, it's cold. But the car's waiting right out front for you, all warm and ready to go. Come on." He looped Kurt's arm over his shoulder and tightened his other arm around Kurt's waist. Kurt slumped against him, head hanging.

Kurt jolted forward. Blaine just managed to keep a hold of him. "Spinny spinny."

Blaine glanced at him. "If you feel like you're going to throw up, you _tell me_, okay?"

Kurt gave a tiny nod and immediately froze, grimacing at the motion. "Oh."

Blaine did his best not to jostle Kurt or any of the men leering over at them on the journey, tightening his grip around Kurt's waist and near dragging him out as quickly as he could. Kurt was bumbling along perfectly happily again, every so often trying to escape Blaine's now vice-like grip with a burst of new found vivacity. Fortunately Blaine's motor skills were still very-much up to scratch and he managed to catch him every time.

"Blaine." Kurt suddenly turned to Blaine just inside the entrance of the bar and prodded his chest, fixing him with a strong gaze and speaking slowly. "I need to tell you something."

"Are you sure?" Blaine said hesitantly.

Kurt nodded vigorously, the movement causing him to wobble and fall into Blaine a little more as he narrowed his eyes and blinked to try and get his balance back. "You-." Kurt prodded him again, letting his fingers trail over Blaine's shirt. "-Are _such _a nice person. And you have really nice lips. And arms. And face. But-." Kurt seemed to struggle for the words. "Sebastian been here first. So."

Blaine blinked. _Sebastian?_

"Is that why you ran away yesterday, because of Sebastian? Just a _little_ hypocritical of you, don't you think, Kurt?"

"No!" Kurt sounded incredibly frustrated that Blaine wasn't getting the point. Blaine searched his eyes, looking for some kind of meaning. "No," he said again, quieter, sadder_. _His eyes glistened and he sniffled a little.

Blaine hastened to tighten his arm around Kurt again "Okay, okay," he said quickly. "Don't worry about it, we'll sort it all out later, okay? Let's go home, yeah?

Kurt tucked his head under Blaine's arm and nodded against his chest.

"Okay then," Blaine said with a deep breath.

They resumed their slow passage back to the car. It was still in the same place as when Blaine had left it. Burt was leaning against the door with arms folded, his face drawn tight. His shoulders sunk in relief as he saw them, immediately pushing himself off the car and rushing over to them.

Kurt clung to Blaine, blindly allowing him to take them across the street and towards the car. Burt reached them and glanced between them both warily. Kurt had closed his eyes, pressing his entire weight against Blaine.

"Is he okay?" Burt asked Blaine.

Blaine gave a sharp nod. "He's a bit out of it but he's fine. Can you help me get him into the car, please?"

Burt moved over to Kurt's other side. "Come on, bud, let's get you home."

Kurt wrapped himself more snugly around Blaine, effectively blocking any efforts from Burt to help. Blaine looked at Burt helplessly, apology in his eyes. Burt ducked his head, not meeting Blaine's gaze and placed a hand on Kurt's back, ushering them over to the car.

Kurt climbed up into the back seat, teetering precariously on the way up. He looked back at Blaine with pleading eyes. Blaine sighed and climbed up after him into the backseat. Kurt settled immediately against him, fingers winding into Blaine's shirt and head nudging under his arm.

Burt wordlessly closed the door gently behind them and got into the front. They drove home in silence, the yellow streetlights flashing in front of Blaine's eyes in a hazy blur, all his attention focussed on the warm weight pressing against him. Kurt seemed to have crashed, dozing on Blaine's chest for most of the way. Kurt slept with a quiet snuffling, his body rising and falling against Blaine; pulling away and coming back, pulling away and coming back. Blaine rubbed down his arm soothingly, trying to keep him asleep as long as possible.

Kurt stirred just as they pulled into the Hummel driveway. "Are we home?" he murmured sleepily, curling up even closer against Blaine's chest, one arm clutched to his tummy and the other around Blaine. "I feel sick. Is mom there? I want my mom."

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut, heavy nausea settling in his stomach. "No, Kurt," he whispered into his hair. "I'm sorry she's not here."

Kurt let out a low whine, shuffling closer into Blaine and tightening his arms around him. Blaine glanced up and caught the gaze of Burt in the rear-view mirror. There was a sadness so deep and a pain so visible and _real_ that Blaine struggled to keep looking, dropping his eyes and squeezing Kurt closer to him, praying that there was something, anything, he could do to make it better.

Burt adjusted his cap on his head and opened the car door. Blaine adjusted Kurt on his lap, not sure how he was supposed to transport him from the car to the house. Kurt out was like a light again, snuffling into Blaine's shirt and emitting tiny little snores. Burt pulled open the door, looking down at Kurt through soft eyes.

"It's alright I'll take him in," Burt said quietly, gesturing for Blaine to let go. "I'll just carry him up to bed."

Blaine kept stroking absently along Kurt's arm, fingers trailing over the goosebumps that had risen in Kurt's skin. Burt followed the movement with steady eyes. "Are you sure? I could probably take him in. I don't want you to, um, hurt yourself in any way."

"Blaine," Burt said firmly. "I am going to take my son inside." Blaine lowered his gaze. "You can spend the night if you want - on the _couch, _mind you - if you don't want to drive home."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, loosening his grip on Kurt. "I was just trying to help."

Burt nodded, almost to himself as he stepped forward and scooped Kurt up in his arms. Kurt barely moved, only curling his hand into the front of Burt's shirt. Blaine hung back as Burt looked down at Kurt with a shaky breath. Burt shifted him in his arms, speaking quietly to him so that Blaine couldn't hear as they began to make their way into the house and up to Kurt's room. Blaine kept his distance, trailing after them as Burt slowly ascended the stairs and set Kurt down gently on the bed. Blaine leant against the doorway as Burt ran a hand through Kurt's hair, large hands brushing down the side of his face. Kurt gave a small mumble in his sleep and leant into his father's touch, making a little noise of contentment as he pressed back against his hand.

With a small smile, Blaine nudged himself away from the doorframe and turned away from them, putting his hands in his pockets and leaving them toit. He went down to the living room and perched on the edge of the couch.

He waited.

The house was quiet around him, the gentle humming of the electrics and the ticking of the clock lulled him gently further back into the warm couch. He slipped off his shoes and tucked his feet underneath himself. He noticed, just as his head drooped to his chest, a full beer bottle on the table in front of his, the cap lying next to it.

He started awake what felt like a second later. A warm fleecy bundle had been dropped in his lap. He forced his eyes open and looked up blearily. Burt sunk down into the opposite armchair, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face. Blaine ran his hands over the soft blanket.

"Is he okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

Burt sighed into his hands and heaved himself forward to lean his elbows on his knees, his head bowed almost in prayer. He raised his eyes to meet Blaine's worried gaze and gave a slow nod.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, fiddling with his hands in his lap. "I think maybe it was sort of my fault that Kurt went to Scandals this evening."

"Kid," Burt sighed. "If Kurt wanted to go to Scandals, he was gonna go to Scandals. He's done it before; he'll do it again. That's just Kurt for you."

Blaine hesitated, staring at his hands. "Well, I'm still sorry."

Burt nodded again, his eyes heavy. "I just glad he's found someone who he feels he can call."

"I would never want him to get hurt."

Burt turned to him, a small, shrewd smile on his face. "No," he agreed. "You really like him, huh?"

Blaine opened his mouth ready to deny but gave up once he saw Burt didn't seem overly upset at the idea. He reached up a hand to rub at the back of neck, a half smile twitching at his lips. "I…really like him. It's that obvious?"

"Yeah," Burt chuckled. "Every time you look at him you look like your head has been on the receiving end of a long ball from Pryor."

"Better Pryor than Troy Smith."

Burt raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Buckeye fan?"

Blaine gave a little shrug. "It was the only thing I could do with my dad. We don't really have anything in common."

Burt nodded in understanding, settling back in the chair.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, though," Blaine said. "If you were even worried. I don't think Kurt feels the same way."

"I don't know," Burt said, scratching his chin. "The way he looks at you…." He dipped his head again. "Brings back memories." Burt gazed at the edge of the coffee table, a far off smile lifting his face to look at least ten years younger.

Blaine dropped his eyes back to his hands. He felt like he was intruding again.

"He's so strong," Burt said quietly, staring intently at Blaine. "But so incredibly brittle as well. Don't ever take advantage of the trust he's put in you."

Blaine swallowed, but held Burt's gaze, trying to convey the depths of his earnestness. "I won't. I promise."

Burt gave another sharp nod.

Blaine's eyelids were getting heavy again, his blinks getting slower and slower as he was dragged under. He shifted on the couch, regretting that he had chosen _quite _such a tight pair of pants.

"Go to sleep, kid," Burt said, getting to his feet. "There are some sweats in that blanket if you want them." He paused in the door. "Thank you again for being there for Kurt."

Blaine smiled up at Burt and waited for him leave before sluggishly tugging on the sweats and crawling into the corner of the couch. He snuggled down into the blanket, his stomach jolting when all he could smell was _Kurt, _overwhelming his senses. All the confusion and worry rose rapidly to the surface again, dispelling any previous relief of Kurt just being _okay._

He pushed the blanket away from his face with a sigh and folded his arms over the edge of the warm fleece, all his sleepiness evaporated in an instant. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

**A/N: :). Drunky Kurt. So cuddly and sad. My poor baby :(. **


	17. Chapter 17

Kurt woke in a fog of confusion, a ringing in his ears and a revolting taste in his mouth. He groaned in displeasure, but abruptly cut himself off as the vibrations from his voice rattled around in his head. He squeezed his eyes against the light stabbing at his eyelids and turned his face into the pleasantly cool pillow. He felt heavy, his limbs sinking into the soft mattress, and he wasn't entirely sure that he could move, even if he wanted to. And fuck, Kurt really didn't want to.

A hand squeezed his shoulder and tugged the covers back from his face. Kurt scrunched up his face and let out a frustrated breath as there was a small dip of the mattress, shifting him further over onto his side.

He cracked his eyes open to see a steaming cup of coffee stood on the nightstand, and the face of his father peered down at him, a look of concern etched into his already lined features.

He allowed himself to sink a little deeper into the mattress.

"Hey, bud," Burt said, keeping his hand tight on Kurt's shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

Kurt turned over to face the wall, shrugging off Burt's hand so that it fell to the mattress with a thud. "Like shit."

He pulled the covers back over his head.

"Well," Burt said, nudging Kurt. "You weren't sick last night so you gotta be glad about that, even if you do feel like crap this morning."

As if Kurt was supposed to be pleased about this.

Wow, okay.

"I'm fucking ecstatic."

The heavy hand weighed on his shoulder again, accompanied by an even heavier sigh. "I'm just glad you're okay."

"There was nothing that might not be okay," he mumbled, his words immediately stifled by the blanket. His head was pulsing against his ears in objection to the bright light and loud words. He snapped his eyes shut again. But straight away images from last night swam to the forefront of his mind, causing small, sharp needles of shame to begin to prickle at his skin. Him, last night, humiliating himself and acting like a desperate, needy child.

In front of his dad.

In front of Blaine.

He curled up on himself, away from his father. One arm tucked up under his chest, the other reached around under the pillow, searching for the touch of comfort he knew he'd left there yesterday. He reached further, checking the bed as far as he could stretch without moving, but all he felt was the soft jersey of his sheets. He slumped back down in defeat, bringing his knees almost up to his chin and whispering, "Just let me sleep."

"Alright," Burt said quietly. "I just wanted to let you know I'd been called into the garage on an emergency job. I shouldn't be too long."

Kurt made a small grunt of acknowledgement.

There was another shift of the mattress as Burt got to his feet. A silky soft, achingly familiar piece of fabric was gently pushed into Kurt's hand. Kurt gripped it on reflex, pulling it down to hold tightly to his chest. Burt squeezed at Kurt's arm, his fingers rough on Kurt's smooth skin, gone in an instant as he stepped away from the bed.

He faltered in the doorway. "Blaine's still asleep on the couch. Just…to let you know, or…yeah. He's on the couch."

Kurt froze, clutching the silk scarf as he listened to Burt's footsteps retreating from the room and down the stairs. Blaine was here.

Blaine was still here.

His eyes blinked blearily open, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest in time with his head.

Blaine was still here.

He sat up quickly in bed, and promptly regretted it as a wave of nausea overcame him. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he swung his legs off the bed and wobbled his way over to his bathroom. He clutched the cool ceramic of the sink and took a few deep breaths. His pallid reflection stared back at him through bloodshot eyes. The usual shock of pink of his hair was dull and matted, falling limply over his forehead, the many glinting piercings failing to distract from his ashen skin.

He lowered himself onto his elbows with a sigh, ducking his head to run his hands back and forth over his hair, giving himself a few moments to breathe. Gradually, the sink stilled beneath him and the spinning of the room shuddered to a stop.

Blue-grey eyes still stared back at him. No flash of brilliant cyan, no spark of a gentle smile.

_"You look so much like her."_

He still couldn't see it.

* * *

Kurt dragged himself into the shower, shutting his eyes and tipping his face up into the stream. He ran his fingers back through his hair, allowing the scalding water to wash over him. The water did nothing to lessen the anxiety churning in his stomach.

With a sigh he turned off the shower and wrapped a towel firmly around his waist. After brushing his teeth, he pulled on his softest sweats and sank back onto the edge of his unmade bed. The scarf was still lying on the bed next to him. Swallowing thickly, he picked it up and ran it slowly through his fingers, his head bowed and his damp hair shielding his eyes from the glare of the room.

Heat prickled at the back of his eyelids again. He brought the scarf up to his face, breathing in deeply. The air stuttered in his throat as his lungs filled with her scent, always present as if woven into the fibres of the fabric.

There was a soft knock on the open door. Kurt looked up, a startled whisper of air escaping his lips. Blaine was hovering in the doorway, hand still raised to the door.

"Hey," Blaine said. The silent house swallowed the words quickly. A brief smile flitted across his lips and he took a tentative step into the room. "I heard your dad leave, so, um, I just wanted to see if you were awake."

Kurt swiped a hand under his eyes and dropped his gaze back to the scarf, hunching his shoulders forward. "Hi."

Blaine shuffled towards him, too-long sweatpants dragging across the floor behind him. Kurt kept his head down, but followed Blaine's movements closely through the barrier of his hair. Blaine stopped in front of Kurt, an arm wrapped around his side, rucking up his already sleep rumpled undershirt. His hand twitched at his waist. "Do you mind if I sit?"

Kurt jerked his head to his side. Blaine lowered himself down next to him, carefully leaving a few inches between them. The inches felt like miles.

Blaine folded his hands neatly on his lap, knuckles just a little too white and the skin just a little too stretched for him to be at ease. "Did you sleep okay?"

Kurt hummed vaguely, folding and unfolding the scarf in his hands.

"Good." Blaine nodded, flicking his eyes all around the room. "Good."

Kurt ran a ran through his hair, the strands pleasantly cool on his shaking fingers.

"That's a beautiful scarf." Kurt glanced up at Blaine before he could think about it, his hand stilling behind his ear. Blaine was staring straight back at him, eyes crinkled with kindness and shining with faltering hope.

"Thank you," Kurt murmured, letting his hand trail down the side of his neck and fall back onto his lap. "It was my mother's."

Blaine didn't say anything but kept his gaze steady. He sent Kurt a small, sad smile, his hand twitching again in his lap.

"I gave it to her," Kurt continued, his hands curling into tight fists around the scarf. "I gave it to her for her birthday only a few months before-. Before. And she wore it every day, claiming it went with all her outfits. She used to say how clever I was to find something that went with everything in her closet." He smiled softly as a tear leaked out of the corner of his eye, and he let it fall so that it trickled slowly down the outside of his cheek. "I really wanted to b-, bury it with her. I thought she would like that. But I couldn't do it." He took a shuddering breath. "I couldn't do it." He folded in on himself, his body shaking with the effort of holding everything in.

A warm hand pried at his fists, loosening their grip enough to fold their palms together. Blaine shifted, closing the gap between them to press their sides together and wrapping his spare arm around Kurt's back to tug him in. Kurt let himself sag into Blaine.

"I'm just so tired," he said, voice hitching on every word. "Of-, everything."

"I know," Blaine whispered?, leaning his head against Kurt's and turning to press a kiss into his hair. "I know."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, more tears leaking out. "And then I'm s-, so sorry about last night I was such a-, an idiot and I didn't mean-"

"Shhhh," Blaine hummed, holding Kurt closer to him and running his thumb over Kurt's hand. "We can talk about that later on. Why don't you get some more rest now?"

Kurt sniffed roughly and sat up to look at Blaine. "But I need to explain-"

"It can wait - I can wait, I promise." Blaine smiled down at him, reaching to gently brush aside a tear with his thumb.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure," Blaine nodded.

Kurt leant his full weight against Blaine in relief and let himself be lulled under by the soothing pattern of Blaine's hand up and down his side and the steady undulations of his chest. Blaine began to hum under his breath, and he just caught a few snatches of a lilting melody he didn't recognise before he succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down.

* * *

Kurt blinked awake a few hours later, immediately feeling ten times lighter. He was still on his bed, curled on his side facing the sleeping form of Blaine. Blaine was on his back next to him, an abandoned magazine resting on his stomach, looking like it was going to slide off the bed and onto the floor at any moment.

He fought the urge to reach over just a few more centimeters to nudge the curl of dark hair back from where it lay on Blaine's forehead. Long eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, a line of worry darkening Blaine's otherwise smooth, soft countenance; something troubling him even in sleep. He looked exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes and skin unusually pale.

Kurt gently slipped out from under the covers, trying his best not to disturb Blaine. He pressed the back of his hand to the coffee his father had left on the nightstand. It was freezing to the touch. With a sigh, he gathered up the mug and padded over to the door. He glanced back into the room, eyes lingering on the form of Blaine in Kurt's bed, a little taken aback as to how _not _weird it felt to have him there.

Blaine blinked awake as Kurt entered the room again laden down with a large breakfast tray. He balanced it on the nightstand and turned to Blaine, wringing his hands in front of him. He didn't even know why he was nervous, but the jitters in his stomach would not go away.

"So I made breakfast," Kurt said, gesturing unnecessarily at the tray.

Blaine raised himself up onto his elbows, a smile playing around his lips as he took in the spread that Kurt had set out for him. "You remembered what I like for breakfast?" he asked, a note of wonder in his voice.

Kurt hid the thrill of pleasure that ran down his spine at the tone of his voice, turning to him with a look of derision. "Of course I did."

Kurt didn't miss the tinge of red that spread to Blaine's ears or the broadening of his smile as he dropped his chin to rest on his chest to mumble, "Of course you do."

Kurt simply grinned and reached into his bag to grab a cigarette, tucking it carefully behind his ear. Blaine raised his eyebrows in question, which Kurt duly ignored as he climbed onto the other side of the bed, keeping his coffee level with both hands and settling cross-legged on the covers to face Blaine. Blaine stared at him for a few moments, lips parted and colour flooding to his cheeks. Kurt couldn't dampen the smile on his own face, so relieved that at least for the moment they seemed to be back to their usual easy teasing and lingering glances.

"So how are you feeling?" Blaine asked, keeping his anchoring gaze on Kurt as he pushed himself up and turned to mirror Kurt's position on the bed.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder. "Better than earlier."

"Everything's so much worse when you're tired," Blaine said, nodding. "I'm really glad that you're feeling a bit better."

Kurt ran his teeth over his bottom lip. "Earlier I-, I didn't mean I'm just tired physically."

"I know," Blaine said softly. "But I think that being physically tired always makes it harder to find the positives."

"Even if the positives are standing right in front of you," Kurt said, flicking his eyes up to meet Blaine's, before rolling his eyes at himself and dropping his gaze back to his coffee. He cleared his throat. "You seem pretty tired yourself. Was the couch not as comfortable as last time?"

"Something like that," Blaine said with a fleeting grimace before looking back to Kurt with a teasing sparkle in his eye. "It was definitely much colder than last time, anyway."

Kurt ducked his head to hide his smile, mind immediately flashing to waking up tangled with Blaine, to being so deliciously warm and comfortable and close. His smile faded as he remembered why that hadn't happened this time. He had been held in someone's arms. He had walked away from that.

"I'm really sorry about last night," he said with a quick flicker of a glance up to Blaine, fingers tight around his coffee mug. "I had this…" he waved a hand loosely in the air. "Plan? I guess. But of course I ruined it."

"What plan?"

"It's not even-, a thing. It's stupid. It doesn't even matter-"

Blaine leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and shoulders hunching to fix Kurt with an earnest stare. "Kurt, just tell me."

Kurt ran a hand roughly through his hair. "But it's fu-, it was just ridiculous and pointless and it failed so there's no point-"

Kurt stopped abruptly as Blaine reached over to take his hand. "Kurt. You said earlier that you would explain it to me. No matter how stupid you might think it is, just, please tell me. I was up half the night trying to figure out what on earth is going on with you." He paused, turning Kurt's hand over and rubbing his thumb along Kurt's palm, pulling his hand into his lap. He looked back to Kurt with pleading eyes. "With us. I deserve to know why we kissed and then you ran away, even though apparently you wanted to kiss me. Or why I found you, off your head, in the lap of some middle-aged man in a dodgy gay bar. Or why you even called me from there in the first place."

Kurt lowered his gaze to their hands, watching as Blaine continued to rub soothing circles into his palm. "I-," he started, snapping his mouth shut as his heart beat wildly in his chest. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Blaine said. "Just talk to me."

Kurt floundered. "I don't know," he repeated, a little louder.

"Kurt, come on. You promised."

Kurt snatched his hand back from Blaine. "And you promised that this could wait until later. I call that it's not 'later' yet."

Blaine narrowed his eyes. "That's crap. Just tell me what the hell is going on! Stop with the mixed signals and just throw me a bone here, Kurt. Don't you think you owe me that?"

Kurt disentangled himself quickly from his position and jumped up off the bed to pace across his room. "Blaine, I don't want to do this now."

"Well, you're not running away."

Kurt felt cornered. "Blaine. Don't make me do this."

"Why did you call me last night?"

"I don't-, I was drunk, Blaine."

"So why would you call me? You were with those other guys. They were all over you. You had what you wanted, right?" Blaine sounded so resentful and angry and so completely un-Blaine-like that Kurt stopped, facing the wall away from Blaine. He felt sick. "So why did you call me?"

Kurt swung around to face him. "You preach about not judging anyone based on rumours or how they look but that is complete and utter bullshit, Blaine." He stalked towards him. "You've bought into every single thing anyone's said about me. You think I'm this person, this mysterious, easy, edgy, interesting person. You like me because you think I'm 'enigmatic' and 'different' and all this other crap but you don't know jack."

"Yeah?" Blaine challenged, standing up and stepping towards Kurt. "If you've decided I feel that way then I must feel that way. I couldn't possibly have mind of my own. Tell me, Kurt. Tell me what I'm getting so wrong about you."

Kurt blanched, his breaths coming in short gasps as his throat contracted.

"Exactly," Blaine said, the bitterness sounding heavy and unnatural in his mouth. "You won't say."

Kurt stared at Blaine, eyes searching the unrecognisable angry lines of his face for some kind of meaning. He was lost. He didn't understand how this had happened, how this conversation had turned out like this.

"Why are you being like this?" he whispered.

Blaine slumped in defeat in front of him, all the fight leaving his body as he sank back down onto the bed. Kurt watched as he fiddled with his hands in his lap, his brow furrowed and his lips tipped down. He looked so small, perched on the side of the bed in his baggy sweats and wrinkled undershirt. All Kurt wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and tell me that everything would be okay. But at the same time he was so _angry. _He needed so badly to yell at Blaine, force him to understand just how hard this was for him.

But then Blaine raised his gaze and Kurt forgot to breathe. Blaine's eyes were shining bright with emotion, wide and safe and warm and focused solely on Kurt. His face turned up into a slow, wry smile. "Because I think that maybe - definitely, actually - I'm in love with you," he said, never letting his eyes leave Kurt's. "You know that I can see you. Because you let me. So stop trying to push me back to arm's length. I will go if you really want me to, but I don't think you do." He was speaking quietly but with such certainty and honesty that Kurt couldn't doubt a word he was saying. "It's really as simple as that. I love you."

There was no breath left in Kurt's lungs. He felt like his heart had stuttered to a halt in his chest and then jumped into life again, hammering against his chest until all he could feel was the rush of blood through his veins and all he could hear was a deafening thump thump thump, so loud he was sure Blaine must be able to hear it.

But all he could see was Blaine still staring at him, watching him, analysing his reaction. Kurt couldn't do anything except stare right back.

"Kurt?"

Kurt blinked at him.

"Are you…okay?"

Kurt opened his mouth to reply but shut it when no sound would come out. He gave a dumb nod.

Blaine got to his feet and took a small step towards him, raising a hand towards but seeming to think better of it and letting it fall back to his side. "I didn't want to freak you out. I just-, I really do, um, feel that way. I'm sorry I haven't gone about this in the best way. I-," he paused, again searching Kurt's face. Kurt couldn't seem to arrange his expression into something that might comfort him. "It hurts that you won't tell me what's going on because I thought we were friends - best friends, and I just want to help."

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his hand across his forehead. His brain felt jumbled, like someone had plucked it from his skull, had a quick game of squash with it and shoved it back in so that he couldn't extract one thought that made sense. He opened his eyes. "I-." His voice cracked. "We are best friends."

Blaine's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Glad to hear it."

Blaine's smile settled into Kurt. He took a deep breath, twirling his earring with a shaky hand. He fixed his gaze on the foot of his bed. Blaine's toes were scrunched into the carpet, and behind them Kurt could see the dark shape of the carefully sealed plastic box that lived under his bed. He took another breath. "I've never had sex," he said quickly, his voice high and breathy. "I've never been with anyone. I've never kissed anyone. I've never so much as held hands with anyone until you reached out to me in the hallway downstairs."

Blaine didn't move. Kurt swallowed and ploughed on, barely taking the time to breathe as he rushed to get it all out. "So you think that I'm this worldly person who's been with loads of guys and gone to loads of places, but last night was the first time I've ever been to Scandals and Friday night was my first kiss. People say stuff about me, and that's fine. Quinn likes to add her little fabricated stories; she thinks it's funny, or whatever. So they say stuff about me but they don't do anything to me. Usually. And that's how I want it."

Kurt sucked in a lungful of air as he finished, his heart still hammering against his ribcage. He risked a glance up at Blaine's face. It was scrunched up in confusion. "I don't-." He shook his head in complete bewilderment. "That's what you were terrified to tell me?"

"Yes?"

"But that's not even-. Why would I be upset about that?"

"Because you've been with Sebastian! Because you've done everything with him and know what's going on and have experience and I have no idea what it's like to even properly kiss someone."

"That doesn't matter!" Blaine said, raising his hands in a wild shrug. "I couldn't care less about your history with guys."

"Of course it matters," Kurt scoffed. "It's pathetic."

Blaine stepped forwards again, the expression in his eyes soft and caring and so Blaine. There he was. "It's really, really not. Oh, _Kurt._" He reached for Kurt's hands. "Is this what last night was about?"

Kurt nodded with just one dip of his chin as he studied Blaine's expression. He couldn't find any of the reactions he had expected written in the kind contours of his face.

"When we kissed on Friday I didn't know what to do," Kurt said, eyes still running anxiously over Blaine. "I really wanted to kiss you back but I had a minor panic attack and ran away. I was going to get some 'experience', or whatever, last night. So that if, in some bizzarro universe, you might have wanted to kiss me again I would be able to show you how I feel." Blaine had tilted his head to one side, open and listening to every word with rapt attention. "But of course I ruined it. As soon as I was drunk all I could think about was you." He shook his head with a little exhalation of breath in an attempt to clear his head. "All these guys were asking me to dance but all I wanted was to dance with you."

He gave a little shrug and looked down at the floor. His hair fell back in front of his eyes and he made no attempt to push it back.

Blaine let go of one of his hands and tipped up Kurt's chin with two fingers. "Kurt Hummel," he said, a beautiful smile gracing his lips. "May I have this dance?"

It was the last thing Kurt had been expecting. "What?"

"Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

Kurt drew his head back a fraction of an inch. "Here? Now?"

"Yep!" Blaine beamed over at him, his eyes glinting out jovially at Kurt.

Kurt shook his head. "I don't dance sober."

Blaine scoffed. "Of course you do."

Kurt looked at Blaine with an appraising slant of his head. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, Blaine," Kurt said in a serious tone. "But we're not in a nineties teen rom-com."

"A source of great sadness in my life," Blaine said with an exaggerated sigh. "So we must create these moments for ourselves." He held out a hand to Kurt, sincerity returning to his voice. "Please dance with me?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes at the offending hand, biting back a smile. "You don't even want music?"

"Nope," Blaine said, reaching to grab Kurt's hand with a roll of his eyes.

The corner of Kurt's mouth twitched. "Is this the part where you say there's music enough in our hearts for us to dance the whole night through?"

"Oh, so you already watched this one?" Blaine said with interest, rearranging their hands so that their fingers were intertwined. "I don't need to tell you how it goes, then."

Blaine pulled Kurt to him and their bodies slotted perfectly into place. Kurt let out a slow, steadying breath as Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt's back, nudging for him to do the same. He could feel Blaine's heart against his and the warm exhalation of breath against his neck where Blaine had tucked his head.

"I feel ridiculous," Kurt huffed.

Kurt could feel Blaine press his smile into his neck. "No, you don't."

He smiled into Blaine's hair. No, he didn't.

Kurt let himself relax into Blaine, allowing the warmth to seep through into his bones. He fluttered his eyes closed and buried his nose further in Blaine's hair which, he realised with a widening smile, was soft and curly and smelt vaguely of raspberries. He shifted his arm up Blaine's back to twirl his finger tips around the short tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. Blaine sighed into his neck, melting into him. The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood on end, shivers cascading deliciously down his spine.

He realised that the earlier churning of his stomach had completely settled without him noticing, leaving him utterly at peace. He leant back a little, opening his eyes to look directly at Blaine. Blaine was staring right back at him, a small but blissful smile tugging at his lips. Heat spread through Kurt as he watched Blaine's gaze flicker between his eyes and down to his lips and back again. His breath came faster, more erratic, and he gave a tiny nod as he began to lean in.

Blaine paused mere millimetres from Kurt, his eyes shining bright and vulnerable. "Please don't run away this time," he whispered, his warm breath tingling against Kurt's lips.

Kurt let out a breath, reaching to dance the tips of his fingers down the sides of Blaine's face. He watched their path, captivated by the feel of the smooth skin of Blaine's cheek and the scratchy stubble around his chin. "I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly, flicking his gaze back to meet Blaine's. "I promise." His mouth tipped in a half smile as their eyes locked. He felt the intensity of Blaine's gaze right down to his toes, coiling around him and keeping them close.

His eyelids slipped shut and closed the gap between them with a gasp of air. Their lips touched, hot, sweet breath trapped between them. Kurt let himself relax into it with a soft moan, wrapping an arm around Blaine's neck and pulling him impossibly closer. Their lips glided over one another smoothly, overlapping so that Blaine could suck Kurt's top lip between his own.

Kurt immersed himself into the kiss, forgetting everything but the feeling of Blaine all around him, enveloped in his taste, his smell, his hands. His warm, wet tongue traced over Kurt's top lip, teasing at the seam of his mouth. Kurt opened his mouth with a sigh and Blaine tilted his head slightly to kiss him deeper, to hold him closer.

All he could hear was the muffled gasps of their breath and the rapid thumping of Blaine's heart against his, each successive beat seeming louder in his ears as he realised this was _Blaine. _This was really happening. Heat prickled at the back of his eyes and his throat tightened, mouth slowly stretching up into a wide smile until all he could do was accept short, breathless kisses from Blaine.

"Are you okay?" Blaine murmured, drawing back slightly to look deep into Kurt's eyes.

"Perfect," Kurt whispered, absently playing with the curls at the nape of Blaine's neck as his breathing levelled out. He pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face back into his now familiar spot just behind Blaine's ear.

Blaine pulled back again, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Kurt's ear before replacing it on his side with a squeeze. "It was an honour, Kurt Hummel, to be a part of your first two kisses."

Kurt moved forward to nudge his nose against Blaine's. "And my third," Kurt said, resting his forehead against Blaine's with a smirk.

Blaine sniffed, lifting his chin and tightening his arms around Kurt's waist. "That's mighty presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Kurt grinned and pressed his lips again and again to Blaine's mouth and cheeks in chaste kisses, only pulling back murmur into Blaine's mouth, "Isn't it?"

Blaine blinked at him, his eyes dark and his cheeks flushed. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and Kurt couldn't help but surge forward again, pulling Blaine in with a hand buried in his curls and capturing his bottom lip between his own. Blaine whimpered and pressed into him, and Kurt couldn't imagine ever wanting to leave these arms again.

* * *

**A/N: **Happy New Year, everyone :). I hope this makes up for all the delays with updating!


	18. Chapter 18

Kurt didn't feel time passing as they stood wrapped around one another, trading soft kisses and gentle caresses. There were no more words uttered - there was no need, just quiet hums pressed into lips filling the room with hushed sounds of assurance and want and complete contentment.

Blaine kept his arms locked around Kurt's waist, their bodies pressed flush against one another so that Kurt could feel Blaine's every movement like it was an extension of himself. Blaine ran his fingers down Kurt's side and settled on his hips, winding their way under his hoodie and trailing a hot blaze across his bare skin.

"You're not wearing a t-shirt underneath?" Blaine murmured into Kurt's lips, his voice low and gravelly, sending a dizzying swoop through Kurt's stomach.

The heat in Kurt's cheeks flared up, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Are you complaining?"

Blaine rubbed his thumbs into the warm flesh just under the hem. "God no," he breathed. He brought a hand up to cradle Kurt's face, his touch cherishing and sure, his gaze steady and encompassing. Kurt leant into the touch, his head tilting forward and to the side to look down at Blaine through heavily-lidded eyes.

They kissed, slowly and with no thought to anything outside of their small, shared space of tangled limbs and mingled gasps. Everything that had built up within Kurt over the past few days felt like it had been released, as if all the knots that had been squeezing and tugging at him tighter and tighter until he was struggling to breathe had slipped free in one easy motion.

Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's neck, running a hand up through his hair. He brushed their lips together once, twice, three times more before pulling away a fraction of an inch to lean his head against Blaine's. He carded his hand absently through the wild curls, winding wispy tendrils around his fingers as he cradled Blaine's head into the side of his neck. Blaine tilted his head to press a stream of kisses along Kurt's neck, his breath hot and sharp on Kurt'stouch-starved skin.

Blaine's stomach rumbled loudly. Kurt huffed a laugh, dropping his forehead to Blaine's shoulder.

"Moment ruiner," he murmured.

Blaine scrunched up his face in embarrassment, closing his eyes and pouting his lips so that Kurt couldn't resist pressing another quick kiss to them.

Blaine relaxed into a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess we forgot about breakfast," he said, eyeing the tray on the nightstand with remorse.

"It's just fruit, it'll still be fine," Kurt said, winding their fingers together and dragging Blaine over to the bed. He glanced back and saw Blaine dip and shake his head at the floor, a small but beautifully formed smile playing around his lips. Kurt's stomach flipped at the sight, giving a tug on Blaine's hand so that he collapsed down onto the bed next to him.

Kurt plumped up the pillows behind him and settled again them, patting the bed next to him in invitation. Blaine obediently scooted back to sit next to Kurt, looking up at him through his eyelashes before edging closer to mold their sides tightly together.

They ate in comfortable silence, their hands automatically sliding towards each other to clasp together once more. Kurt was sure that there must a ridiculous, giddy smile on his face and his eyes had probably gone all squinty, but he found he didn't really care. He kept flicking his eyes to Blaine, the warmth along his side not quite enough to reassure him that he _was _there, that it _had _happened.

He ran his gaze over the delicate fluttering of Blaine's long eyelashes, contrasting so enchantingly with the strength of his arms and the line of his jaw. His undershirt lay rumpled and bunched up on his shoulders and chest. Kurt's hand twitched. He wanted to touch, he wanted to feel. He bit his lip and shook his head to himself, raising his eyes to look back at Blaine's face.

Blaine was staring straight back. He squeezed his hand and tipped his lips up in a gentle smile and a silent reassurance thatit was_ okay. _That Kurt_ could_ look.

Kurt dropped his gaze to their hands. One thing at a time.

After breakfast, they shimmied down the bed to lie facing each other, curled up on top of the covers. Their hands lay, still woven, in the small gap between them, Blaine seeming to understand that Kurt needed the connection. Or maybe he needed it just as much as Kurt did.

Kurt rubbed the side of his face into the pillow, tipping his chin up to look directly at Blaine. "Thank you for coming to get me last night." He spoke in a low hushed voice, trying not to disturb the air around them. It still felt fragile and vulnerable, liable to shatter at any moment.

Blaine pressed soothing circles into his hand with his thumb. "I was worried about you. And God, if I'd known you'd never been to Scandals before I would have been ten times more worried." Kurt narrowed his eyes, opening his mouth to retort but Blaine got there first. "I know you can look after yourself, but some of the guys there looked really creepy. And huge."

"I could have taken them down," Kurt muttered. "If I'd really wanted."

"Of course you could have," Blaine said, with a placating and maybe a little patronising nod.

Kurt frowned again, reaching with his free hand to prod Blaine in the stomach. "Don't make fun of me."

Blaine grinned and shuffled a little closer to Kurt so that their hands were pressed between their chests. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"No," Kurt said with a stern glare, which lost a little of it's intensity due to the fact that Blaine was now nose to nose with him. "I would hope not."

Blaine ran his thumb across Kurt's cheekbone, watching Kurt with a soft smile. Kurt stared straight back, blinking slowly.

"So," Blaine said quietly. "I spoke to your dad last night, after you had, um, crashed. He seemed to think you'd been to Scandals before?"

Kurt closed his eyes with a sigh. Blaine stayed where he was, waiting patiently for Kurt to scramble his thoughts together. He still felt jumbled and a little disorientated, but he needed to say the right thing. More than that, he knew he needed to say the _honest _thing.

"My dad…" Kurt started, steadying himself in the security of Blaine's eyes. "He doesn't get shocked easily."

Blaine kept silent, seeming to anticipate more from Kurt, but Kurt couldn't figure out the words.

He reached up to fold his hand around Blaine's. "Can we please not talk about my dad right now?"

"Of course," Blaine said. "Sorry, I just-. Was wondering. That's all."

"It's okay." He turned Blaine's hand over to weave their fingers together, deliberately skimming his fingers down the soft lines of his palm. Blaine shivered against him. Kurt gave a sly smile and tipped his head forward so that their lips were millimetres apart. "So can we get back to the kissing now?"

Blaine's eyes seemed to melt into dark pools of liquid heat in front of him. "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Yes, I think that sounds like an excellent plan."

Kurt grinned and leaned forward to seal the gap between them, his eyes sliding shut and his heart thumping in his chest.

* * *

A little while after, Kurt stood back in front of the mirror in his bathroom, scowling at his hair. Since he had been… otherwise occupied whilst it had dried, it was now a disastrous mixture of limpand lifeless and frizzy. He looked like a twelve year old. He squared his jaw and let out a breath of air so that his fringe wafted up, exposing the pink highlights at the front.

Make that a twelve-year-old on crack.

As soon as Blaine had gathered up their breakfast things and taken them downstairs, waffling about 'being a proper guest' or something - Kurt hadn't bee able to pay attention due to the path Blaine's hand had been trailing down his spine, Kurt had darted into the bathroom, fearing the worst.

But beyond the admittedly horrendous condition of his hair, he didn't look all that bad. He brought his fingertips to his cheeks, still flushed red and hot to the touch. His lips were kiss-swollen and deep red, his eyes bright, alive and sparkling.

He couldn't even be mad about his hair. How could he when the way in which it had ended up like this was so heart-poundingly wonderful? The way Blaine had ruffled it up with his broad hands and then smoothed it down, pulling him closer, deeper and then pushing him away to change the angle of their lips.

Yeah, he could live with that.

He ducked his head with a grin, reaching for the product on the shelf.

* * *

Kurt ambled down the stairs, a smile still playing around his lips, which spread rapidly as he heard Blaine humming to himself in the kitchen. He checked his hair once more in the mirror in the hall and moved over to the door to the kitchen, pausing when he saw Blaine, now (much to Kurt's disappointment) fully-dressed in his tightest tight jeans and polo shirt, dancing around on bare feet, completely oblivious to Kurt's presence.

Blaine twirled around, a spoon clutched in his hand, freezing mid-spin as he spotted Kurt in the doorway, arms folded, eyebrows raised and a teasing glint in his eye. "Is this a thing I'm going to have to get used to with you? Springing into a dance at any given opportunity?"

Blaine shrugged, giving Kurt a long and thoughtful look before completing his aborted spin and beginning to shimmy his way across the kitchen towards Kurt. Kurt rolled his eyes, which seemed to spur Blaine on, his dance moves getting more and more extravagant and he began to sing, properly this time, using the spoon as a microphone. Kurt immediately recognised _Blue Suede Shoes, _and even if he hadn't, Blaine's alarmingly accurate Elvis impression would have given it away. Blaine leant his head into the 'microphone' and flung out an arm behind him, looking up to give him a cheeky wink before spinning off around the island again.

Blaine kept up his act throughout the whole song, finishing with a slide on the floor towards Kurt, his head falling to his chest after the final beat.

Kurt stood for a moment, eyes wide and smile even wider as Blaine breathed heavily in front of him.

"You-," Kurt started, shaking his head and pushing off the door to pull Blaine into his arms. "Idiot."

"In a good way?" Kurt could hear the smile in Blaine's voice.

"In a good way," he confirmed.

"Hey," Blaine said, pulling back to scrutinise Kurt through narrowed eyes. "You did your hair. That's not allowed. If you get to do yours then I get to do mine as well."

Kurt's hand flew to his hair instinctively. "What? I didn't do anything to my hair. And it's not my fault I don't own any hair gel. The things it does to your hair, Blaine."

"But it's gone all afro-y and your's looks flawless," Blaine whined, jutting out his bottom lip.

"I like your hair like this," Kurt said, wrapping both his arms around Blaine neck again to run his hands through his hair. "It's cute."

"Not fair," Blaine said, crossing his arms petulantly.

Kurt pressed his lips together to attempt to suppress his amusement. "So how could I make this up to you, huh?" he asked, raising his eyes to ceiling in thought. "What could I possibly do to make up for this?"

Blaine shrugged defiantly, keeping his arms in a firm grip across his chest. Kurt lowered his chin to look down at Blaine through his lashes. "Anything come to mind? Anything at all?"

A flush rose to Blaine's cheeks and a smile tugged at his lips. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "And you say you've never done this before," he muttered.

Kurt's smile faltered. "Are you-. Is this too much? I was only-"

"Hey, hey, no," Blaine interrupted, unlocking his arms and sliding them around Kurt's waist. "It's perfect. You're perfect. You're just so good." He ran his hands down Kurt's back. "I like it. Trust me."

"Well alright then," Kurt said breathlessly.

He leant forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine's lips, relaxing into it like they had never stopped. Blaine slid his hand up to cup the back of his neck, keeping him pressed against him. He parted his lips and tilted his head slightly to the side to deepening the kiss.

He darted out his tongue to trace over Blaine's bottom lip, hesitantly at first and then with more certainty as a quiet, desperate sound escaped Blaine's throat. His mouth opened in response and Blaine brought both of his hands around to clutch at Kurt's face.

Kurt groaned as Blaine sucked gently on the tip of his tongue, pressing him back until they both staggered across the kitchen. Their legs were tangled but they both refused to break the kiss until Blaine was pushed the island. Kurt gave a sharp breath, his chest heaving and his heart pounding in his ears, and pressed straight back against him. Blaine looked up at him through eyes half-lidded with pleasure, his hair sticking up even more and his cheeks glowing.

Their lips met again, slower and already open. Blaine slipped his tongue into Kurt's mouth. They both let out startled moans of pleasure as it slid over the small metal ball of his piercing. Blaine ran the tip of his tongue around it and Kurt felt like he was spiralling along the same path. He could feel Blaine on every inch of his skin, his heady scent filling his nose, breathing warm air deep in his lungs. He dug his fingers back into Blaine's hair, trying to tell him to _keep doing that_, _oh my god._

The front door slammed.

Kurt froze and Blaine pulled his head back sharply, his eyes glazed over. His breath was hot on Kurt's face, lips plump and wet and looking thoroughly debauched. Kurt couldn't imagine that he looked any better, if the buzzing through his lips and the heat still ricocheting around his body was anything to go by.

But Kurt couldn't even react to that because _shit shit shit_ his dad was currently walking down the hallway.

He pushed himself off Blaine with wobbly arms and leant against the counter next to him. He ran his hands carefully around his body, pulling his hoodie down where Blaine had rucked it up and attempting to return his hair to a reasonably controlled state. He glanced at Blaine.

He was still looking shell-shocked, his eyes dark and his hair wild. Slowly, he lowered his arms to wrap them around his body, first one way and then the other as if unsure how his limbs were supposed to fit together now that Kurt had left their warm circle.

A voice cleared its throat in the doorway and they both turned their heads sharply.

"Boys," Burt said slowly, looking between them.

"Hello, Mr-, Um." Blaine blinked rapidly. Kurt could see the effort Blaine was making to jog his mind into gear and form coherent words. Kurt could sympathise. "Hello."

Burt raised his eyebrows. "Everything alright here?"

"Yes, fine, fine," Blaine said, awareness flickering gradually into his eyes. "Everything's great, thank you."

Kurt bit his cheek to hide his smile.

"Okay, good."

Kurt felt the eyes of his father on him for another moment before Burt rocked back on his heels and set off towards the fridge. He grabbed a beer and turned back to them.

"Kurt, you remember Mrs Jefferson?" He looked to Kurt for a reaction. Kurt half-shrugged one shoulder. Blaine shifted next to him so that their arms were pressed together again and Kurt itched to close the gap even more. "The batty old lady with the 1966 Coronet?" Kurt didn't respond. Burt barreled on, talking about this Mrs Jefferson as if he would be interested in who the hell Mrs Jefferson was and what the hell had happened to her car.

Blaine was nodding along politely to whatever Burt was saying, occasionally glancing at Kurt with an amused expression on his face. Kurt sighed in irritation, his jaw clenching.

"Dad," he said, stopping his father mid-flow. "I don't care. We're going upstairs."

He resisted the temptation to reach for Blaine's hand and walked straight out into the hallway, Blaine trailing after him, a little uncertainty in his step.

* * *

Blaine followed Kurt through the hallway. Once on the stairs, Kurt reached back for Blaine's hand, gripping his fingers tightly. Tension was rolling off Kurt's stiff shoulders, his hand jerking as he pulled Blaine along.

That was the thing about Kurt. He had the ability to go from open and compassionate to completely closed-off and distant in about three seconds flat. And frustrating and confusing as it was, Blaine knew it wasn't his place to call him out on that.

Blaine felt a little jittery himself; the events of the past few days had exhausted him, too. He settled on the edge of Kurt's bed, watching as Kurt reached into a drawer and pulled out an ashtray. Blaine opened his mouth but promptly closed it again when Kurt moved over to the window and shoved it open, leaning out into the quiet afternoon. It was only the afternoon. It felt like years had gone by since Rachel's party, and yet it had all happened in the blink of an eye.

Kurt rested his elbows on the sill and brought the cigarette to his lips. The flash of the lighter illuminated a gleam of confusion and something like elation in his eyes, but it dimmed before Blaine could make any sense of what that meant.

Everything still felt up in the air and Blaine felt completely out of control of whether it would float away in the wind to never be spoken of again, or be grasped with both hands and cradled closely to their chests. He had said his piece.

"I'm sorry he walked in like that," Kurt said, still staring out of the window. "I had completely forgotten about him."

"That's fine," Blaine replied, studying Kurt carefully. "I mean, I was all for continuing, but maybe it wasn't necessarily a bad thing."

Kurt turned to him, smoke pouring from the side of his mouth. His eyes searched Blaine's face, a vulnerability entering them. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that maybe we shouldn't be diving straight in to…stuff like that," Blaine said. "Maybe we should sort out what this even is first. And I really don't want to push you, or anything. Or make you feel like you have to play a certain role."

Kurt shifted his elbows and tapped out some of the ash into the ashtray with a long, elegant finger. He took his time, watching the ash fall from the end of the cigarette into the glass ashtray in a heap.

"I want us to be boyfriends," Kurt said quietly. "I thought that was clear."

Blaine felt incredibly shy all of a sudden. He raised his shoulders a little and let them fall, the corners of his lips stretching outwards. "Um, no, not, um, completely clear. At least to me."

"All the kissing didn't give it away?" Kurt said, with a wry half-smile.

"Well," Blaine said, blood rushing to his cheeks. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, exactly."

Kurt shot him an incredulous look and stumped out his cigarette, walking across the room with his eyes firmly on Blaine's. He reached for his hands and pulled him to his feet. Blaine looked up at him.

"Blaine Anderson," Kurt said, running his thumbs over the backs of Blaine's hands. "Would you be my boyfriend?"

Blaine let out a shaky breath, his heart galloping in his chest and his legs feeling weak beneath him but for the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear. He squeezed Kurt's hands tightly and then let go of one of them, reaching up graze his fingers down the side of Kurt's neck. "It would be my pleasure," he said with a lop-sided smile. "Yes."

Kurt responded with a dazzling smile, all teeth and dimples and shimmering eyes. Blaine thought he had never seen him look more beautiful. Blaine tilted his chin up and pressed a soft kiss to his smiling lips.

They spent the rest of the afternoon tucked up and curled around each other in Kurt's room. They kept things light, listening to music and talking quietly as they resumed their spot on the bed, nose to nose, hands never leaving hands and hazel never leaving blue. It was perfect.

Eventually, Burt knocked on the door, talking at them through the thick wood.

"Time to leave," Blaine murmured to Kurt.

Kurt shook his head into the pillow and pulled Blaine closer. "Nope."

Blaine smiled. "Kurt I have to go, I haven't even started my homework yet."

"Homework schmomework. You've got a boyfriend here who wants to be with you. Are you going to pass that opportunity up? Really?"

Blaine groaned and peeled himself away from Kurt's embrace. "You can't play the boyfriend card. That's not fair."

Kurt just grinned with an evil glint in his eye, making grabby hands for Blaine to come back. Blaine had to force himself to get up off the bed.

He pulled Kurt up with him, who grumbled under his breath the whole time. "I would stay if I could, but I should really go." He reached up to Kurt's cheek, running this thumb across his cheekbones and curling his fingers around. With a smile, he leant up to press a gentle kiss to Kurt's cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow at school."

He sent Kurt one more warm smile and walked over to the door. He turned back, just for a second, and saw Kurt lift a hand to touch the spot Blaine had just kissed, a reverent look on his face. Blaine's heart fluttered in his chest and he ducked out of the room.

* * *

**A/N: **flufffffffff.


	19. Chapter 19

Blaine arrived at school early on Monday morning, his outfit painstakingly picked out and hair carefully styled, a spry spring in his step as he skipped up to his locker from the parking lot. His phone chimed cheerily from his pocket as he pulled his locker open, and his heart skipped as he dug it out, knowing exactly who it was going to be from.

_From: Kurt (7.34 am)  
Lunch today? Somewhere private? x_

Blaine grinned dopily down at the screen. Another text swooped in before he could reply.

_I am a definitely a fan of today's polo, by the way. _

Blaine's eyebrows shot up and he immediately lifted his head to give a quick scan of the length of the corridor. He frowned when he couldn't see Kurt anywhere.

"Dude!"

Blaine twisted around to see Mike jogging towards him, his books wedged under his arm. Blaine smiled at him and turned back to his locker to grab his American History textbook.

"Dude, how are you?" Mike asked breathlessly as he came to a stand still in front of Blaine. "Are you okay?"

Blaine squinted at him in confusion. "Um, I'm fine? Why wouldn't I be?"

"After the party, man? You were pretty upset."

_Right_, the last time Mike had spoken to him was outside Rachel's party. Just as Blaine was opening his mouth to answer, the double doors at the end of the corridor banged open and Kurt strode through them. Blaine's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide and jaw slack as Kurt strode down the hallway towards him, chin tipped up and shoulders rolled back, accentuating the strong line of his jaw.

Blaine snapped his mouth shut and swallowed thickly as Kurt chains hanging from his jeans jangled together with every step and the heavy fall of his boots on the linoleum pulsed through Blaine with every step. The collar of his cut-off denim jacket was popped and he had a shredded scarf wrapped around his neck, the loose corner fluttering behind him.

He caught sight of Blaine and a smirk crept across his face. Blaine ducked his head to attempt to hide the flush spreading to his cheeks and he rubbed a hand over his forehead. He glanced back up. Kurt's eyes were locked on his, his lips softening into a gentle smile. There was a tug in Blaine's chest and he ached to reach out and wrap an arm around his waist.

"Blaine!"

Blaine blinked and turned back to Mike. He was giving Blaine a knowing look, his head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Did something happen with Kurt?"

Blaine flicked his eyes instinctively back to Kurt, who was now almost level with them. Kurt cocked his head at the mention of his name, darkness flickering across his face. He gave Blaine a small, sharp shake of the head and continued on down the hallway past Blaine and Mike and into his homeroom.

Blaine stared after him, his heart sinking. Worry churned low in his stomach, his brain already conjuring up ten different reasons as to why Kurt wouldn't want people to know about them.

"Kurt and I are friends, Mike," Blaine said in a low voice, lowering his gaze to stuff his books into his bag. "I've got to go. I'll see you in Glee."

He rushed off before Mike could say another word.

* * *

Blaine found Kurt at lunch in a sheltered spot under the bleachers, chin tucked under the lip of his scarf and eyes fixed on the underside of the steps, where a thin strap of fabric was slapping against the metal in the wind. Kurt dug his hands deeper into his pockets and huddled into his jacket, one leg propped up on the wall behind him.

His face lit up when he saw Blaine. He pushed off the wall and waited for Blaine to meet him, a corner of his mouth tipped up into a gentle smile. Blaine returned it tentatively at first, but it bloomed quickly into a grin as Kurt continued to look at him in that same disarming way he had the day before. Blaine rushed the last few steps to meet him in a breathless kiss. He reached forward to cradle Kurt's jaw in his hands, the skin cool and soft under his fingers. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine under his jacket, rubbing his hands up and down his side in a bid to get warm.

"Hi," Blaine whispered against Kurt's lips.

"Hi," he said, tilting his head kiss him properly. Kurt slipped his arms up and over Blaine's shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

Blaine lost himself in the feeling of Kurt against him, the firm press of his lips and reassuring weight of his arms on Blaine's shoulders. He felt safe and sure against the solidity of Kurt's chest.

He pulled back before he could get completely lost in it, looking Kurt in the eyes and taking a deep breath. "Do you not want people to know about us?"

Kurt blinked in surprise at the sudden question, but didn't move away. He searched the contours of Blaine's face in question. "Does it matter to you?"

Blaine shifted his weight and let his hands slip down the sides of Kurt's neck to rest on the strong ledge of his shoulders. "I guess that depends on the reason behind it."

Kurt sighed, his shoulders dropping. He let his gaze drift away from Blaine's eyes. "What if the reason is that I really don't want the neanderthals that attend this school to have any kind of an impact on our relationship?" He stumbled on the last word, flicking his eyes back to look at Blaine. Blaine quirked a small smile of reassurance and ran his thumb up the tendon of Kurt's neck and tucked it under the edge of Kurt's beanie. Kurt shivered visibly at the touch. "I just don't want anyone other than us to have a say," Kurt said softly. "And that includes the Glee club." He lowered his chin to look down at Blaine appraisingly through his lashes. "It's not that I'm ashamed of you, or whatever else it was that I know you were conjuring up about how I feel."

Blaine let out a surprised huff of laughter and looked away bashfully. "Think you know me so well, huh?"

Kurt gave a smug smile. "I_ know_ I know you so well." He tightened his arms around Blaine's neck. "For instance, I know that right now you really want to kiss me."

"Oh, really?" Blaine asked with a coquettish tilt of his head.

Kurt nodded, an all-too pleased with himself glint in his eye.

Blaine shifted the pad of his thumb to run down the shell of Kurt's ear, his soft, smooth skin punctuated with cold and unyielding metal. He let out a breath, a flush rising to his cheeks as he remembered the shock of Kurt's tongue piercing in the otherwise soft of his mouth. The sudden pool of heat that had welled in his stomach as Kurt had moaned against him and pulled him impossibly closer.

Blaine blinked and looked up at Kurt, unable to keep the burning intensity from his gaze. "Seeing as I pretty much always want to kiss you, that doesn't take a genius to figure out."

Kurt grinned, leaning into Blaine's touch. "Still true, though," he said, and bent forward to nudge his nose against Blaine's.

* * *

As November slipped into December, to anyone else it might look like nothing changed. Kurt still kept a careful display of nonchalant disinterest at school and still abided by his firm disregard of the rules and expectations McKinley had always tried to force on him. Headphones molded to his head, he still spoke to no-one in the corridors.

But to Kurt, everything was different.

School was now lingering glances and furtive smiles volleyed from one end of the corridor to another between classes. It was lunch periods full of soft smiles and gentle touches, hands always seeking hands before lips brushed against waiting lips. Words flowed effortlessly between them, sometimes fast and gabbled and in a great rush to excitedly pass on as much information to each other as quickly as possible, but just as easily they might be quiet and slow, low murmurings lost quickly in the wind to all but themselves.

Kurt could always feel the pull in his chest to be near Blaine, to be _with_ Blaine. He had half expected it to dampen slightly over time but if anything it was becoming greater as they unfurled and unfolded around each other. From exchanging small tentative smiles to wide and familiar grins, slowly, slowly they began learning each other inside out. Kurt cherished each new nugget of information about Blaine and held it close; the way he ate so carefully and boxed so hard, nerded out over new releases of comic books and talked rapturously of his days spent at music camp.

During Glee Kurt prowled the corridors of McKinley. On the days he knew Blaine had a solo he hovered in the hallway outside the choir room, ostensibly scanning the myriad of posters on the walls with his headphones on. In reality his eyes were closed and his iPod off as he let the smooth timbre of Blaine's voice wash over him.

He didn't know if Blaine knew he listened to him. Sometimes the song choice was too opportune, too fitting for the moment that Kurt felt Blaine was speaking directly to him. Whether it be a soft ballad or an upbeat pop song, with the help of music Blaine always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Blaine expressed himself through music so honestly and so earnestly and in such startling contrast to the hesitant way in which he so often spoke, that Kurt came to understand that this was the way Blaine wanted to be heard. This was the way he interpreted his emotions and then laid them bare for anyone to see. Kurt's heart swelled with pride every time he listened in.

Kurt never asked him about it, and Blaine never brought it up. It was an unspoken connection between them, a communication more than words or language on their own could convey, and it meant so much to Kurt that he knew he would never mention it with Blaine for fear of losing it.

They met after Glee Club at Blaine's car and retreated back to Kurt's empty house as soon as they could. Kurt cherished the time they had together before his dad got home. It was so easy to fall into a rhythm with Blaine. They still did everything they had done before. They watched movies and brilliantly terrible reality TV shows, listened to music, did their homework. But now they could lie wrapped up in each other on the couch, or share earphones instead of connecting the speakers, heads bent close together, or sit on the floor with knees brushing, books scattered around them as they worked.

But where his relationship with Blaine was evolving and growing every day, things with his dad had reached a plateau. Or at least, they had in Kurt's book. Burt was still trying to engage Kurt in everything he did, involve him in conversations and activities that Kurt really couldn't give a single fuck about. He invited Carole around to dinner, kept Kurt working at the garage, but Kurt never broke, not even to display is displeasure. He never spoke a word.

It was a whole lot easier to not give a shit when you have something else so wonderful to distract you.

And Blaine was never more than a text message away. Kurt spent those dinners glued to his phone, and he was surprised that his father never commented. He thought that phones at the table would be against one of his new 'I'm going to be a flawless, hands on father' rules. Instead, the expression on Burt's face was soft, a sadness in his eyes but a corner of his mouth tipped up in a gratified smile.

Whenever he caught the tail-end of one of these looks, something squirmed uncomfortably in Kurt' stomach. He couldn't place the feeling and pushed it aside, choosing to focus on the incoming texts instead.

* * *

One afternoon just a couple of weeks before Christmas, Blaine collapsed back onto the sofa in the Hummel living room, dragging a reluctant Kurt with him.

"Blaine," Kurt whined. "I wanted to have a smoke before we sat down."

Blaine clasped his arms around Kurt, tugging them down so that they lay across the couch, just the top of Kurt's back propped up on the cushions behind them. "Nope," he said, wiggling around so that his shoulder was tucked under Kurt's arm and he could look up into Kurt's eyes. "Not allowed. I require immediate cuddles."

Kurt curled his arm around Blaine properly and tangled their legs together. "Any particular reason?" he asked, reaching for Blaine's hand. "Not that you need one."

Blaine regarded Kurt closely, pursing his lips together in indecision. He settled his head on Kurt's shoulder. "It's just something we were talking about in Glee." He flicked his gaze back up at Kurt. His expression was unreadable.

Kurt sighed. "Okay, I'll bite. What did they say?"

"It's just-," Blaine started. He rubbed his lips together nervously. Kurt waited patiently for him to continue. "We were talking about The Future, and all the seniors were talking about what they're doing next year." He bit his lip as he paused again. "I realised I have no idea what you want to do after school but I'm guessing it doesn't involve staying in Lima, I mean, you're not exactly on the Ohio Tourist Board." Kurt snorted in amusement. "I was just… sad, I guess. I know it's ridiculous."

Kurt shifted against him. "It's not ridiculous," he said, squeezing his hand. "But you have to understand that I can't, like really literally _can't_ stay here. Not for a second longer than I have to."

He tightened his grip around Kurt's waist. It wasn't like he could have expected Kurt to wait around for him. Kurt had always been clear that this place was hell for him. But that didn't stop Blaine hoping that _he_ might be enough of a reason for Kurt to want to stay around, just for another year. Apparently that had been a naive fantasy.

"Where are you going?" he whispered.

"New York," Kurt said without hesitation, an edge of wistfulness and breathlessness to his voice.

Blaine nodded slowly into Kurt's chest. "Me too. You know, in a year's time."

Kurt smiled down at him. "I know."

"So, nothing has to change?" Blaine asked tentatively, his heart beating fast in anticipation.

"Nothing has to change."

Blaine gave a satisfied hum and twisted his fingers into the thin jersey of Kurt's t-shirt. He leant up to press a kiss to the underside of Kurt's jaw and snuggled down next to him. "I'm still requiring those cuddles, though."

"Alright," Kurt laughed. "I'll allow it."

They settled, their breathing evening out as they lay pressed against each other. The small pleased smile wouldn't leave Blaine's face. There was no much left unsaid, but the implication that Kurt was already sure that they would still be together in over a year when he would move to New York was enough to leave Blaine giddy and breathless with excitement.

The house phone rang. "Just ignore it," Kurt said, reaching for the remote. "It won't be for me."

Kurt turned on the TV, and sure enough the phone stopped ringing. After a small scuffle over who was in the charge of what they were watching, they settled down to watch BRAVO.

A few minutes later, the sharp tone of the phone interrupted them once more.

Kurt sagged into the couch with a heaving sigh and pushed himself up to sit properly on the couch as he reached for the phone.

"What?" he barked into the phone. Blaine slowly shifted to sit up next to him and tucked his feet up under himself. He sat quietly as Kurt tapped the phone impatiently with his finger.

"This is he. What do you want?"

Kurt's body froze, all his muscles tensing at once. Blaine sat forward in alarm and watched helplessly as a thousand emotions flicked across Kurt's face in a millisecond, gone before he could place them. Kurt pressed the heel of his hand hard into his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. His face was contorted, tortured, an intolerable pain disfiguring his usually smooth features.

But then, in one clear motion, it all dropped away, leaving Kurt's face void of any expression, of any emotion. He opened his eyes. Just a short while ago they had been sparkling blue with life, but now were dull and grey.

"Is he dead?" Kurt asked in a flat voice.

Blaine's breath stuttered in his throat and he reached blindly for Kurt's hand. He held it tightly between both of his own, trying to let Kurt know he was there. But Kurt didn't move a muscle.

"Is there any point? I can't do anything there," Kurt said into the phone. He sounded almost bored.

Blaine rubbed his hands over Kurt's, but he was stiff and unyielding under Blaine's touch.

"Fine. I'll be there soon."

Kurt put down the phone hung up the phone with a jerk of his thumb and threw it to the other side of the couch. Blaine found himself holding his breath, the house deathly quiet around them as he waited so Kurt to say anything, do anything.

Kurt cleared his throat, and spoke in a low, expressionless voice, "My dad had a heart attack. Take me to the hospital, please?"

* * *

**A/N: **This is an awkward place for an author's note, but I couldn't put it at the top because it's going to be a long one folks.

Firstly, I urge you to go and check out the truly beautiful fanart created for the first chapter of this fic by gleeklainebow on tumblr. The link can be found on my tumblr (shameless plug ahoy) at wheretheshadowslie dot tumblr dot com, and then click the 'Trapped in Amber' link in the sidebar. It's stunning and makes me go all flaily inside (also outside).

Next, I must thank my beta mrssosostris who has been great with me the past few weeks (as you may have been able to tell from the slow update, I've had somewhat of an issue ironing out problems). 3. Thank you for helping me get back on track!

And finally, I got a sudden influx of reviews over the last week, and I wanted to thank you for taking the time to comment. It really means a lot to me 3. I love you know what you're thinking about the characters etc.

I'll do my absolute best to not leave you hanging too long now :P.


	20. Chapter 20

Debbie checked Mr Hummel's vitals once more before tucking the chart back into its folder and then bade him a cheery goodbye, talking to him in the same natural and friendly manner that she had grown into the habit of doing with all her comatose patients. It was a routine that she had developed all the way back in nursing school - hours and hours spent with silent patients always left her with a crawling sense of unease, so she spoke to them as if they were awake, letting them know if she was going to check something on them, chatting away about the current celebrity mishaps and her children's various exploits. She closed the door gently behind her to leave him in relative peace.

She bustled down the corridor back towards the entrance of the ward. It had been a reasonably quiet day so far, with just the one new patient being admitted during her shift. She handed the folder to Annie on the front desk.

"Mr Hummel's chart," she said with a smile. Annie nodded absently and shoved it back in its place in the drawers to her left without so much as shifting her gaze from the screen in front of her.

"Any sign of the family yet?" Debbie asked.

"Hm? No. His son's on his way."

Debbie nodded, casting her eyes around the waiting room. She caught sight of poor old Mrs Peters in the corner, dutifully waiting to see her husband as she had done every single day since he had been admitted all those months ago. Debbie sent her a warm smile and ducked behind the desk, sinking gratefully into a chair. Just a few precious seconds off her weary feet and she'd be ready to go home. She leant back, stretching out her legs in front of her and closing her eyes.

"I thought you were off today anyway?" Annie asked after a few minutes.

Debbie let out a slow breath of air, running and tired hand over her face. "I'm covering for Carole," she said, her voice muffled from behind her hand.

Annie span around in her chair to face Debbie, her eyes lighting up. "Ooooh, does she have a date with her boytoy?"

Debbie let her hands fall to the arms of the chair and smiled, remembering the excitement written plainly all over her friend's face when she had asked Debbie to cover for her. "A bit later on this evening, I think. I couldn't say no when she asked me. It's been so long since I've seen her this happy."

Annie smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Because she's been getting some for the first time in years."

"Annie," Debbie scolded.

Annie shrugged. "What? It's true. She needed a bit of manly attention, if you know what I mean."

"Everyone always knows what you mean, Annie," Debbie said dryly, sending her an appraising look. She let a tiny sparkle enter her eyes and Annie grinned at her before swivelling back to face her computer, pressing a button on the switchboard in front of her and speaking into her earpiece, "Good afternoon, this is the ICU at Lima Memorial, how can I help you?"

Debbie gave a small shake of the head and leant forward on her elbows. The waiting room was still quiet, the TV on the wall muted and displaying the delayed subtitles from FOX News. Mrs Peters had got her knitting out, her hands shaking but her stitch steady.

Debbie glanced up as the main door to the ward swung open and two boys entered. The one in front was dark-haired and shorter than the other, lines of worry etched into his face. He glanced back at the other boy in what looked like a nervous tick, as if he was constantly checking he was there.

Debbie propped herself up on her elbows with interest. The second boy sauntered over behind the first, this one tall and lithe. He wore tight black jeans and a loose, ripped v-neck which was covered with a distressed denim jacket and a pair of headphones slung around his neck. His face was completely void of expression and his hand was running constantly back and forth through thick, multi-coloured hair. The dark-haired boy half-jogged over to the desk, but he paused to hover politely a few feet away when he saw that Annie was on the phone.

Debbie got to her feet and beckoned the boy over to her. "How can I help you?"

The boy smiled tightly and walked to her, clasping his fingers to the edge of the desk. "Hello," he said. "Um, we're looking for Burt Hummel, please?"

Debbie glanced between the two boys. The second had his hands wedged in his pockets and was staring blankly at the noticeboard behind her, his shoulders hunched forward. She turned back to the first boy, now chewing nervously on his bottom lip.

"Are you his son?" she asked kindly.

He raised his eyebrows sharply in surprise. "No, no. Kurt is," he said quickly, gesturing at the other boy. "I'm Blaine. Kurt's-, um-, Blaine."

"Oh," she said, a little taken aback. "Well, why don't you two take a seat and I'll get the doctor to come and see Kurt as soon as she can?"

"Thank you," he said to her. He turned to Kurt and hesitated briefly, reaching out a hand to tug on his arm. "Come on," he murmured gently.

Kurt rolled his eyes and slumped down into the chair closest to him, legs splaying out in front of him. Blaine lowered himself down next to him, his back stiff and his feet folded together under the chair. She watched as Blaine's eyes lingered on Kurt, wide and so full of tenderness and fear that Debbie wanted to wrap him up in her arms. Then she turned to Kurt, surprised to see complete passivity written all over his face. She watched as he pulled his headphones on and sank down even further into his seat.

Debbie sat back behind the desk, reaching for the pager.

* * *

She caught sight of them a little later on in the corridor outside Mr Hummel's room and slowed her pace to get a better look, a little surprised to see both of them talking to the doctor - unless under the express wish of an immediate family member, no-one else was usually a part of the consultation.

Kurt was still disengaged, staring blankly at a point above Dr Jackson's head. Blaine was listening carefully, hanging onto the doctor's every word and chipping in with the odd question. Debbie grimaced in sympathy at the lost look on Blaine's face; there were no answers they could give confidently. All they could say was that he had suffered cardiac arrest and that he had fallen into a coma due to the CPR he had received at the scene. They could only wait.

"Is there anyone else you need to call?" the doctor asked, just as Debbie was reluctantly turning the corner at the end of the corridor.

"No," came the short answer in a flat voice. "There's no-one else."

* * *

When Debbie returned to Mr Hummel's room after she had taken her dinner break that evening, Kurt was sitting on a chair in the far corner, away from the bed. He didn't look up as she entered. His headphones were on, and Debbie wasn't sure whether or not he knew she was there. The steady beat was audible to her, even from across the room. His face was a blank canvas, his mouth held tight but his posture loose. He was staring down at the iPod in his hands, aimlessly scrolling down and down and down.

She flipped open her chart with a little more vigour than was necessary, hoping to catch his attention. He blinked and slowly lifted his gaze, an unimpressed eyebrow already poised. Debbie smiled at him winningly and mimed for him to take off his headphones.

Kurt rolled his eyes and roughly pushed the headphones to rest around his neck.

"What?" he asked, a rough impatience saturating his tone.

"I just wanted to introduce myself properly," she said. "Since I'm your dad's nurse. I'm Debbie."

He shrugged a shoulder and lowered his gaze back to the iPod, his thumb brushing down continually.

She took a small step towards him. "I don't know exactly what the doctor told you, but if you have any questions feel free to ask me."

He ignored her.

She didn't even hesitate. "Your dad's in great hands. Dr Jackson is the best in the field."

Kurt gave a small snort of amusement.

Debbie raised her eyebrows a fraction. This was a difficult one. But then, if she had learnt anything in her twenty years as an ICU nurse, it was that everyone dealt with shock and trauma differently. She made herself give him a small, comforting smile. "Well, if there's anything at all..."

Kurt looked up at her with a breath of a sigh. "For fuck's sake, I don't care. I don't even want to be here."

Debbie kept her smile on her face. "Okay," she said. "Well, since you're here, you could try talking to your dad. Studies have shown that coma patients can be comforted by the voice of a loved one, even if they aren't consciously listening." Kurt was looking at her in complete incredulity. She barreled on. "It might also help if you were tohold his hand."

Kurt made a small noise of irritated disbelief."Do I look like the touchy-feely type to you? Do I look like I want to be here? That's all a load of bullshit you tell the pathetic wives and husbands and sons and daughters of people who are already circling the drain."

Kurt leant back in his chair, staring at her with clear provocation in his eye. Debbie studied him carefully, biting her lip.

"Your dad is in a serious condition, but he's stable. However, his chances of waking up lower significantly after he's been under for longer than 24 hours. So I suggest that you talk to him. It doesn't even need to be about anything important. It really does help."

"Did you not get the message?" Kurt growled. "Fuck the hell off."

Debbie sighed, pulling out the chart and looking over it quickly. "Oh honey, you'll have to do much better than that," she said, running her eyes down the tables on the page. "I've been a nurse far too long for you to scare me away so easily."

"Is that a challenge?" Kurt asked, lip curling.

Debbie shook her head lightly, a small smile still playing around her lips. "I was just letting you know that if it's a reaction you're after, you're not going to get it from me," she said lightly. She flipped the file shut, looking back at him. "Maybe you should take a few minutes, go get a coffee, whatever you want to do."

Kurt squared his jaw, shifting it from side to side as he stared at her. He stood up in one fluid motion and strode out of the room, reaching as he went into his back pocket, fishing out what looked to be a pack of cigarettes.

Debbie propped open door to call after him, "Kurt! The smoking area is outside of the front entrance on the right. Please don't light that until you're there."

Kurt shoved the pack back into his pocket without looking around and turned on his heel, heading the other way down the corridor. Debbie let the door close and looked back down at the charts but found she was not really seeing them, her mind lingering instead on the lonely figure of a boy sat alone in a hospital room.

She realised that in all of the time she had been in the room with him, Kurt had not once looked over at the bed.

* * *

A few minutes later, once Debbie had finished checking Mr Hummel over, she made her way back to the waiting room.

Blaine was curled up on a chair in a corner, an arm wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees, speaking quietly to Kurt next to him. Kurt was low in his chair, head back against the wall and eyes closed, but he was clearly listening, moving his lips to answer Blaine every so often. They were sat close, but there was a small gap between them where their hands were clasped tightly together.

It was such a strange sight; the put-together, polite boy so earnestly looking into the cool blue eyes of the boy with the multi-coloured hair and many piercings. And even though Debbie couldn't tell what on earth was running through the boy's head from his expression, the way he was holding on so tightly to Blaine's hand said more than enough.

* * *

When she arrived to check on Mr Hummel the next morning, Kurt was already in the hospital room, phone in hand and scowl in place. She sent him a cheery greeting and, unsurprisingly,, he didn't reply.

"You're here early this morning," she said blithely. Kurt shrugged and muttered under his breath. Debbie thought she heard something about 'missing school' and 'worth it'. She suppressed a small smile of amusement at his need to excuse himself, and asked, "Has the doctor been in to seen you this morning?"

He dipped his head once in assent, keeping his eyes on his phone.

She hesitated for a moment, a question on her lips as she considered whether or not to try to engage him again. After a moment of studying his passive face, she closed her mouth with a snap and turned back to her charts. _Not her business. _

She didn't hear a sound from Kurt's corner of the room as she made her assessments, and she managed to refrain from constantly looking around out of pure curiosity as to how he could just sit there like that, completely still, slunk low into the chair, his only movement a flicker of the eyes back and forth over his phone.

"I'm all done here," she said after a few minutes, closing the file with a flourish.

Kurt quirked his eyebrows. "Well, congratulations to you."

She pressed her lips together in a tight smile, trying to keep it as reassuring as she could.

"Don't do that," Kurt said suddenly, his tone biting and his eyes gleaming into life. One of his hands moved across to rub at the leather cuff around his wrist.

"I'm sorry, what's the problem?" Debbie asked.

"Those little 'understanding' smiles of yours," Kurt said with a sneer. "They're annoying as hell."

Debbie let the smile fade. "I'm sorry if I upset you, but I only meant to put you at ease," she said carefully.

Kurt scoffed. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. "Well, don't."

Debbie bit her lip to keep in her sharp retort and gestured to the door with the file, deciding that the best thing to do was just move on. "I'll leave you to it, then. Think about what I said about talking to your dad."

Kurt only made a tiny noise of disinterest as he turned his attention back to his phone.

* * *

Kurt and Blaine were in their corner again, Debbie noted as she entered the waiting room later on in the afternoon. They were turned in towards each other, blocking out everyone else in the room apart from each other. Kurt had taken his boots off and was sat cross-legged sideways in his chair to face Blaine. His socked feet curled under his thighs, making him look younger than Debbie was used to seeing him. Because - and Debbie had to remind herself - he was just a kid. A kid who might very well lose his father.

She caught Kurt's eye and he curled his lip up into a snarl, his lip-ring glinting in the light. His hand slipped out from where it was wound around Blaine's to give her the finger across the waiting room.

Debbie looked away quickly, busying the papers on the desk in front of her. She couldn't help but glance back at them a moment later. Kurt had turned away from her, but Blaine was looking at her, his eyes wide and sad. His hand was firmly back in Kurt's grip, and Debbie could see his other hand, the one closest to the wall, was running gently up and down Kurt's side in what seemed to be a subconscious gesture of comfort. His brow was furrowed as he stared at her accusatorily.

He looked back to Kurt and leant in to murmur to him, his lips brushing against the metal rings lining Kurt's ear. Kurt gave a small roll of his eyes but nodded, untangling himself from their embrace and reached forward to pull on his boots. Blaine rubbed the small of his back as he slowly tied his laces, winding them up and up and up.

Kurt straightened up and strode across the room, nose in the air and a sneer playing about his features as he walked past Debbie without so much as looking at her. She watched the stiff movement of his back as he pushed open the door to his father's room.

No sooner had the door clicked shut behind Kurt,the main doors of the ward burst open. A very flustered looking Carole rushed in, her eyes wild and searching. She angrily pushed back the hair falling across her face. Debbie recognised Carole's son trailing behind her, pausing to hover awkwardly back by the doors.

"Carole?" Debbie said in surprise. "Couldn't keep away, even on your day off?"

"Burt," Carole gasped, reaching forward to steady herself on the desk. "You've got a new patient, Burt Hummel. Where is he?"

"Mr Hummel? He came in yesterday. Why-, what's wrong?"

"He's-, that's Burt. _My _Burt. I only just found out," she said, craning her neck to look down the hallway as if there would be a neon sign pointing her in the direction of Burt's room. "Please, Debbie."

Debbie placed her hand over Carole's, her heart going out to her. After all this time, after all the misery that Carole had been going through for the last _eighteen years_-. Debbie sighed. It was just so _cruel._ "His son's in there now, Carole. Please, give me a minute. Let me just talk you through-."

"He's in there now? Kurt's in there?" she demanded, a new gleam entering her eye. Debbie nodded cautiously. Carole pivoted on the spot and stormed towards the hospital room.

"Wait-," Debbie called after her, rushing to keep up. But Carole ignored her plea, already halfway down the hallway.

* * *

**A/N:** Business first - No more false promises... I will update when I can but it's likely to be slow until May. I'm in my final semester of unviersity and it's taking it out of me a little more than I expected. I am doing my best. Thank you all for sticking with me 3. What I _can_ promise you, however, that this will never be abandoned. So all those voicing concern in the reviews - fear not :). I will see this through. It means far too much to me, and I don't want to let anyone down.

Now, onto happier things! If you head to my tumblr (wheretheshadowslie dot tumblr dot com) and click the trapped in amber link in the sidebar, there is another piece of artwork done by gleeklainebow that is so so gorgeous. I urge you to go and give her love for it :3.

Thank you to all the reviewers for your continued interest in this story :3. You are all wonderful.


	21. Chapter 21

Kurt flopped into the all-too familiar chair in the corner of the room. He shifted, his legs jiggling up and down as he thrummed his fingers over and over against the arm of the chair. The soft _tap tap tap _of his fingertips against the faux-leather was just audible over the loud whirrings from the other side of the room, subconsciously falling in time with the rhythmic clickings.

He propped himself up with one elbow, but that didn't feel right, so he switched arms and scooted backwards in his chair to lean forward, staring intently down at the ground. He scuffed the vinyl tiles of the floor with his foot, the thick sole of his boots leaving satisfying grazes of black against the grain of the worn pattern.

He ground his teeth as the swooshing of the ventilator interrupted his thoughts. He was sick of this _fucking _hospital and every _fucking _person in it.

He was startled from his bitter reverie as the door banged open. A very red-faced Carole stood in the doorway, her eyes zoning in on him immediately. He settled carefully back in his chair, ignoring the thump of his heart in his chest.

"Carole," he said with a small quirk of his eyebrows. "How nice of you to drop in. Can't say it's a pleasure."

Carole clenched her hand around the door handle, steadying herself. She stood still for a moment, breathing heavily.

Kurt rolled his eyes as that irritating nurse came into view behind Carole and reached forward to tug on her sleeve. "Carole, honey, come on. Let's just go talk in the nurse's lounge for a sec."

Carole shrugged her off and stepped into the room. "Why didn't you tell me?" Her voice shook with either anger or emotion; Kurt couldn't tell which. He found he didn't really care.

He shrugged with a jerk of the shoulder and a twitch of his lips.

She swallowed forcefully and took another small prowling step towards him. "It's been nearly _twenty-four hours_ since this happened."

"Wow, has it really been that long?" Kurt said, in a bored, monotonous voice. "What can I say? Time flies when you're having fun."

Carole spluttered and looked away from him, running a shaky hand through her hair. Her eyes fell on the bed on the other side of the room. Kurt watched with a sense of detachment as her expression froze and then slipped, slowly at first, but then faster until it was falling with abandon, the lines on her face getting deeper and deeper as her now red-rimmed eyes roved over the prone figure on the bed.

With a visible effort, she shifted her gaze back to Kurt. Kurt tilted his head to the side in silent challenge.

She sent him a pleading look. "Please, Kurt, don't you think I at least deserved to know?"

Kurt regarded her for a moment. "No," he replied coolly.

She recoiled slightly, her head pulling back away from him in shock. "Kurt," she rasped. She cleared her throat. "I get that we're not close, that you don't want me in your life. Trust me, I got that. And I understand that this must be so unimaginably _hard _for you-"

"Bullshit," Kurt interrupted bluntly. "You don't understand anything about any of this. So don't even try."

A hard look came into Carole's eye and she stepped forward once more, with purpose this time. "If you had bothered to get to know me, I think you would find that actually yes, I do understand quite a bit about this. I understand loss. I understand pain. I might not perfectly understand your situation, but I do understand what it's like to have the most important person in your life wrenched away from you so hard and so sudden that you could swear that they've ripped away a huge part of you and taken it with them."

She continued to look at him imploringly. Kurt made sure to keep his expression blank. "Someone break out the violins; we've got a sob story up in here."

Carole choked on a sob and took a step back, clenching a hand to her mouth.

"This man," she said with a low shudder to her voice. "_Your father_, has been trying so hard with you. He's been working himself to the bone for you. He's strained himself every single day to try and makes things right. But you give him _nothing."_

Kurt was frozen. He kept his eyes on the soles of his shoes in front of him. He could feel the hammering of his heart all the way to his fingertips and he gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

Tears were leaking unchecked down Carole's face but she made no more motions towards him.

"Mom?" a voice from the door asked. "Mom, what's wrong?"

Finn was hovering just outside the room next to the nurse. Kurt came unstuck and raised his eyes to the ceiling, heaving a great breath. "What the fuck is this? What are _you_ doing here?" He rose to his feet and brought his hands up in front of him. "You know what?" He asked, swallowing thickly and rising to his feet. "I'm over this. I'll leave you to it. He's all yours." He gestured vaguely behind him and strode to the door.

Finn stepped in front of him, blocking his way out of the room. "No, dude. What the hell did you say to my mom?"

"Fuck off, Finn, let me past," Kurt spat. Finn didn't move. Kurt shouldered his way forcefully past him, his head bowed low as he headed back to the waiting room.

Carole's voice came after him, quiet but managing to ring through his ears, "You can't keep running from this, Kurt. It doesn't work like that."

His stride stuttered but he didn't look back. He set his jaw and focussed on the figure of Blaine in front of him, silhouetted against the bright waiting room behind him. The strangling squeezing in his chest eased a fraction at the sight. The shadows on Blaine's face were chased away as Kurt got closer and closer, stepping forward into the glare. Blaine's worried eyes caught Kurt's and Kurt shook his head, just a fraction.

Blaine gave a ghost of a nod and reached out his hand. Kurt gripped it tightly, clinging on to the one small thread of comfort he could allow himself to have.

* * *

Kurt settled back against the seat and closed his eyes on the journey home. He could feel Blaine's glances at every stoplight, knew that questions were queued up one after the other on his lips. Kurt tensed with anticipation the whole ride, his hands wound together on his lap, but thankfully Blaine managed to refrain from letting the words slip and contaminate the air between them.

The car came to a stop on the slight incline that Kurt knew meant they were home. He blinked his eyes open wearily, squinting against the light. He reached out for the door handle, pausing as Blaine didn't do the same.

"Are you not coming?" he asked, accusation creeping into his voice.

There was a pause and he felt the weight of Blaine's gaze again. "I wasn't sure," Blaine said, "What you wanted."

Kurt pushed open the door and swung around in his seat away from Blaine. "It's fine if you don't."

Blaine turned to him and touched a gentle hand to his arm. Kurt didn't move. "Kurt, I want to come in with you. I wasn't sure if you wanted to be by yourself or not."

"Come in with me," Kurt said, letting his chin fall to his chest and staring down at the rough concrete of the drive. "Please."

Kurt felt a gentle squeeze to his arm. "Okay."

They made their way into the house, the silence washing over them the second they crossed the threshold. The soft click of the door drew the house into a vacuum, the rustling of their coats dampened by the suffocating pressure that seemed to be pressing Kurt into the floor. The air felt thick in his lungs and he struggled to keep his breathing steady, but at the same time his limbs seemed to be moving with no resistance, his head heavy on his shoulders.

Kurt kicked off his shoes and waited impatiently as Blaine untied his shoes in that meticulous way of his; tucking in the laces carefully and lining them up against the wall. He straightened up and Kurt immediately launched himself at him, pressing him against the wall and sealing their mouths together in a hot embrace. Blaine let out a small gasp of surprise against Kurt's lips and then melted into him, running his hands up Kurt's back and tugging him closer.

Their bodies were pressed fully together. Kurt could feel Blaine's chest against his, the small, soft swell of his stomach and the solid strength of his thighs. He felt like he could breathe again. The blanketing security of just being with Blaine managed to keep everything else at bay, all thoughts apart from _Blaine Blaine Blaine _shoved unceremoniously to the back of his mind.

Blaine pulled back with a smack, his head dropping against the wall with a gentle thump. A rush of breath escaped his lips. Kurt immediately moved to suck on the exposed stretch of skin under Blaine's jaw.

Blaine ran his hands around Kurt's sides to push gently at his chest. "Kurt-"

Kurt cut him off with another kiss. "Uh-mm," he mumbled against his lips. "No talking."

He nudged his thigh between Blaine's legs. Kurt had to bend his head to keep kissing Blaine as he slid down the wall a few inches, determined to keep the warm press of lips constant against his own. Heat shot to his stomach as he felt the hot length of Blaine against him. Blaine let out a delicious moan and Kurt pressed closer, hips instinctively rolling together as he chased the hot rush of oblivion. Everything became fuzzy and unimportant apart from the smell, feel and touch of Blaine all around him.

All too suddenly, the warmth was gone and Kurt again felt a soft force on his chest. He blinked his eyes open.

"Wait," Blaine said, his voice parched and ragged. "No, wait a second."

Kurt took a step back away from Blaine, wrapping his arms around his hollow chest. "Why?" he asked in a small voice. "You don't want...?"

"No," Blaine said immediately. "No, I don't."

Kurt hunched his shoulders forward, curling in on himself and squeezing his fingers tightly into his sides. He looked away down the dark hallway, blinking in irritation at the heat inexplicably building up behind his eyes.

He felt fingers prying at his hands where they clutched his t-shirt. Blaine gripped his fingers tightly and stepped towards him. "At least," he continued, searching out Kurt's eyes, "Not like this."

Kurt drew his teeth over his bottom lip in confusion, his chest tight. "Like what?" he asked. His voice was breathy and nervous. "I don't-. We're together. This feels good. I don't see the problem."

Blaine squeezed his hands. If he could feel the trembling of Kurt's fingers, he never said a word. "Of course I want to do... _things_ with you, Kurt, that's not the problem. The problem is that we haven't even talked about any of this, about where we are in our relationship. Not to mention that I am not a hundred percent sure that this is really about me, or even _us_."

Kurt looked away again, deliberately avoiding Blaine's imploring gaze.

"I need a cigarette," Kurt muttered, turning on his heel. He could hear Blaine's sigh following after him as he strode determinately down the hallway and out through the door onto the back deck.

Kurt sat on the steps, the evening chill prickling at his skin. The air was sharp in his lungs, piercing through the dense fog clouding his brain.

The deck beneath him trembled, soft footfalls getting closer and closer. Kurt didn't move as Blaine lowered himself down so he was perched on the edge of the step, their arms pressed together.

Kurt took a deeper, gasping breath.

Blaine didn't attempt speak, didn't even look at him.

And so they waited, side by side.

Kurt didn't know what for.

A car rumbled down the street nearby.

Blaine still didn't move even an inch.

The breeze nipped at the trees across the backyard, the leaves shivering and whispering against each other.

Kurt could feel himself teetering on the edge, his whole body juddering forward with every squeezing lungful of air.

A spike of fear punctured his chest and he slumped forward, dropping his head to rest on his knees.

A warm hand settled on the small of his back, rubbing small circles in his skin.

He swallowed thickly, his hands clenching into fists on his legs.

Slowly, he raised his head, gave a small cough to clear his throat and spoke into the dark, "She said it was my fault."

He couldn't move his eyes from the tree at the bottom of the garden.

Blaine kept his touch steady on Kurt's back. "Carole?"

Kurt nodded shortly.

"Are you sure that's what she said?"

Kurt dipped his chin again in assent.

Blaine let out a slow breath and turned to face him, one hand on the back of his neck. "I guess people... say things they don't mean when they're upset. It's just-, you know that it's not true, right?"

Kurt continued to stare ahead.

"Kurt," Blaine said softly. "I'm not a mind-reader. I wish I could just know exactly how you feel and how to help you. But I don't know what to do. I just want to help you in any way I can."

Kurt shook his head, pressing his fingers hard into his forehead. Blaine reached for his hand but Kurt pushed it away and jumped up onto the grass. He paced back and forth, eyes wildly roving over the ground in front of him.

"Kurt, _please_." Blaine sounded desperate.

Anger boiled low in Kurt's stomach and he whirled around to face Blaine. "I don't know, okay?" he spat. "I don't fucking know how I feel, Blaine. Everything is so jumbled up I have no fucking idea what the fuck is going on. Mostly I'm just pissed. At everything. At Carole, for always shoving her nose in where it isn't wanted; at you, for trying to be so fucking understanding all the fucking time; at my dad, for being in a fucking coma; at me, for being bothered that my shitty father is in a coma; at my fucking _mom,_ for leaving me here in this fucking place all on fucking my own."

Before he could even shudder in a breath Blaine slammed into him in a hard, tight hug, locking his arms around Kurt. Kurt froze for a moment in shock, all the anger startled out of him just as quickly as it had arrived.

He let himself be held. He wound his arms around Blaine's neck, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes.

Blaine pulled back so he could look Kurt in the eye. "I know this will probably sound trite and whatever, but trust me, you are not alone. I'm here, and I'll continue to be here as long as you'll let me."

Kurt squeezed his arms tighter around Blaine in response, not trusting his voice. He hoped Blaine understood.

"And anyway, your dad hasn't gone anywhere yet. It's not too late. The doctor said he's stable and it's only a matter of time," Blaine continued, in a softer voice. "It's always worth a try, right? Worth trying to sort things out?" He sighed. "I'm sorry I know this sounds cliched."

Kurt buried his nose in Blaine's neck and breathed in his familiar scent. He pressed a soft kiss just behind his ear. "You're doing okay." He pulled away for a second. "You know I'm not actually annoyed at you, right?"

Something eased in Blaine's eyes, a breath of relief escaping his lips. "Right."

Kurt dropped his head to Blaine's shoulder and slumped back into the close embrace. "Can you stay tonight?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Just to sleep."

Kurt could hear the gentle smile in Blaine's voice as he answered, the sound muffled against Kurt's skin, "Of course."

* * *

Kurt stared at the watercolour of weak light beginning to brush the bottom of the curtains. He hadn't slept for a second, had stared up unseeingly at the ceiling the entire night, trying not move at all, lest he might disturb Blaine.

He had an arm flung over Blaine, who was curled on his side next to him, snoring lightly in his sleep. Kurt shuffled closer to him so that he could feel the gentle caress of his breath on his cheek, taking a moment to breathe in the warmth and familiarity of Blaine next to him.

But he could feel a tug within him, pulling him away from the comfort and security that Blaine gave so naturally. Kurt slipped his arm off Blaine with a soft sigh and shuffled as softly as he could back and out of the bed. He couldn't resist leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Blaine's forehead, threading his fingers back through his sleep-ruffled curls. Blaine pressed back subconsciously into the touch, smacking his lips together and wiggling down into the bed further.

Kurt let a smile flicker across his face and ran his hand around the curve of Blaine's ear in a lingering caress. He slowly drew his hand back and retreated silently across the room. He tugged on his clothes, barely noticing what he was picking out. Abandoning his sweats on the chair of his desk he caught sight of his notepad on top of it. He reached over and scribbled out a quick note to Blaine, glancing back at the peaceful form of Blaine once more before slipping out into the hall. He tiptoed through the dormant house and down the stairs, reluctant to make noise even though he knew Blaine was a deep sleeper.

The front door clicked closed behind him and he looked out over the silent street. It was still too early for the school run, too early for the morning joggers, too early even for the few commuters heading to Columbus. But Kurt was late.

He walked around to the garage, clutching the keys tightly in his palm. Inside, his car was waiting patiently for him, as it had for the past four years. He froze, staring at it, the keys digging into his clammy hands.

He bit out a quiet curse and dragged a hand back through his hair. He span on the spot in desperation, trying to quell the rising wave of irrational fury and hopelessness threatening to engulf him.

Letting out a breath, he caught sight of a bike against the wall. He darted over and slung a leg over it. He pedalled furiously down the drive and out into the street.

* * *

The hospital was already buzzing by the time he got there. He didn't pause to cool down after the ride. Stopping wasn't an option. The idea of waiting, of having to sit down and have nothing to do but _think_ was terrifying. He had to keep moving.

He pushed the bike against a fence and strode the now familiar route to the ICU, ignoring the bustle of people around him. He gave the girl at reception a pointed look and jerk of the head towards the room, and she replied with a wave of the hand, gesturing for him to go on in.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. His pace slowed as he approached the door, pausing in front of it, chest heaving, and reached forward to grasp the handle. He stared at it for a few seconds and let his forehead fall forward to rest against the wood. His eyelids fluttered closed and he sucked in a lungful of air. Somehow, he forced himself to push down on the handle. The door fell away from him.

He took two cautious steps into the room, his eyes still trained on the ground just in front of his feet. The door swept closed behind him. The draft lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and he shivered against the sudden chill.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he tracked the path of the floor with his eyes to the foot of the bed and the plethora of machines surrounding it. Wires, cables and tubes wound around each other across the room towards their shared target at the centre.

Kurt drew the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and wrapped his arms around his body, taking another step closer to the bed. Finally, he let his gaze fall upon the figure lying motionless on the bed.

Kurt let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding. His father was pale, his entire body lax and weighing into the bed. His face was sunken, skin slumping down into his bones. His arms were at his side, palm down. Kurt couldn't help but notice the left-hand was again devoid of the wedding ring. A feeble spark of hope flicked in his chest as he considered that it could be the hospital that had taken it off him.

That hope was snuffed when he saw a chair pulled up close to the bedside that hadn't been there when he had left the day before. Kurt lowered himself into it, his legs weak beneath him.

_He settled into the chair, primly folding his ankles together underneath him and smoothing down the fabric of his smart shorts. Warm grass brushed at his bare feet and he scrunched his toes at the sensation, reaching forward with a start when he realised Miss Doolittle was threatening to fall off her own chair. Kurt straightened her with a gentle hand and quiet words of reassurance into her fuzzy ears._

_He sat up straight again. "Mommy," he called impatiently. "Tea's ready."_

_The soft lilt of his mother's voice drifted out from the house, "Coming, sweetie."_

_Kurt huffed. He scrutinised the table one last time, trailing a finger over the dainty china. He tweaked his bowtie and was just smoothing his hair when his mother pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the deck, her sundress swirling around her legs and her hair flying out behind her. _

_"Sorry, pumpkin," she said, rushing over to him. She ran a hand over his hair and leant down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "I was just talking to daddy."_

_He huffed again, a little more exaggerated this time, and gestured to the one empty chair. "Please take a seat and I'll serve you."_

_His mom's eyes sparkled across at him and she nodded graciously in thanks._

_Burt came out from the house, a baseball mitt and ball in his hand. Kurt ignored him, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated on pouring the tea out for his guests._

_"Hey, kiddo." Burt jogged down the steps and out into the yard. "You wanna come play some ball with your old man?"_

_"No, thank you," Kurt said quietly. "We're having tea."_

_He glanced up, just for a second. His mom and dad seemed to having one of their silent conversations over his head again, communicating with their eyes and tiny head movements. Kurt turned his attention back to the tea cups lined up in front of him._

_"Why doesn't Daddy join us, Kurt?" his mom said brightly. "We could have a nice family tea time together."_

_Kurt sent her a look. "There's no room left. I don't have enough cups."_

_His mom seemed to consider for a moment, and then reached out for Miss Doolittle and tugged her onto her lap. "I can share with Miss Doolittle," she said. "We don't mind."_

_Kurt flicked his gaze from her to his dad, biting his lip._

_"Miss Doolittle?" Burt grunted. "Like the movie with the talking animals?"_

_"No," Kurt said impatiently. "Like in My Fair Lady. And no, Daddy, you can't join us. You broke the teacup last time and ruined everything. Your hands are too big."_

_"He'll be extra careful this time._ Won't you_, Daddy?" she said pointedly, looking over to Burt._

_Burt cleared his throat. "Uh, yes, yes, of course. "_

_Kurt narrowed his eyes at him but reluctantly filled up his cup. Burt picked it up gently with just his thumb and forefinger, a look of deep concentration on his face. Kurt kept a close eye on him as he sipped his own tea._

_"Relax, sweetheart," his mom said, smoothing his shirt down his back. "It's not the end of the world if he breaks a cup. Just enjoy it."_

_Kurt sat at the table in the garden, staring down at a silk scarf folded carefully in his lap. Tears carved searing paths down his face. He closed his eyes and bent his head up to face the sun. He could close his eyes and see her face, feel the ghost of her touch on his cheek and the gentle press of her lips to his forehead. He could hear her voice clearly, musical and so often full of laughter. _

_But he will now always have to open his eyes and the feelings would fade once again to memories as quickly as the warmth of her touch cooled on his skin._

_He pulled at the tie around his neck. For once, dressing up felt like too much. The collar was strangling him and he couldn't breathe. _

_But he knew she would like it if he did make the effort. Would have liked it. Dressing up together had been their thing. Or rather, him dressing her up. They had spent many hours in her closet, analysing this blouse with this skirt, this dress with these heels and this lipstick. She had taken him on trips to the mall where they perused the stores as the fancy took them, his hand firmly wrapped in hers the whole time._

_The yard was quiet around him; the summer heat a heavy blanket stifling any echoes of a past life of tea parties and exuberance. Everything looked faded and dull, the sounds of summer muffled and unimportant. His stomach churned as his shirt stuck to his body, clinging to his skin, his palms were clammy as he ran a shaking hand over his forehead. _

_The back door creaked open. He didn't look around. He didn't need to anymore._

_"Come on, son," the low and worn voice of his father reached him. "Time to head to the church."_

_Kurt tucked the scarf in his inner pocket and slowly got to his feet, swiping at his eyes and blinking rapidly._

_Burt stood in the doorway, a hand reached out towards him. Kurt walked straight past him without so much as looking at the extended hand. He didn't need anyone anymore._

Kurt stared at his dad's hand, limp on the bed in front of him. He leant forwards in his chair, propping up his elbows on his knees. He twisted his own hands together, running his thumb over his knuckles again and again.

He realised vacantly that people were moving around him. He noticed Carole, the nurse, the doctor. He blinked, tucking his hands safely back in his lap and looked around him curiously. Carole was crying, tears pouring down her cheeks and hand over her mouth as she looked at the bed.

Kurt turned slowly back to the bed, unease creeping into his stomach.

Burt was twitching his fingers, his face scrunched up. The nurses were all swarming around the bed, changing the equipment Burt was on. One of them chivvied at Kurt to move away.

He rose in a daze, standing still for a moment as dots of light danced in front of his eyes. He felt lightheaded and woozy.

Burt cracked open his eyes on the bed just as Kurt began to back away. His gaze darted all over the room, finally resting on Kurt. Burt squinted at him, confusion clouding his face. They locked eyes, just for a moment. There was a question in his father's pale gaze, an unmasked pleading in his eye that was vulnerable after so long being closed to the world.

Kurt wrenched his eyes from his father's and turned on the spot, striding away through the hallway, the soft lilt of the hospital radio playing out over the speakers.

_When I feel that something_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand_

_I want to hold your hand._

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for the continued support, lovelies. Just a month left until exams are done! So close to graduating waaaaah.


	22. Chapter 22

Kurt cycled back to the house in a daze, clammy hands gripping the handlebars tightly as car after car roared past him. He kept his gaze resolutely forward, blinking rapidly against the cool air rushing past and concentrating on the blur of the grey sidewalk. His legs pushed down on the pedals mechanically, the silent rhythm soothing his racing mind. His breaths came out in small gasps of air, repeating the same half-formed words over and over with every drive of his legs, "Just, keep, _going_."

The turning to his street loomed in front of him, startling him out of his stupor. The temptation to ignore it and keep going pulled at him. The steady tempo of his legs beneath him was comforting; the very idea of stopping sent a fresh wave of fear flooding to his stomach.

Gritting his teeth he swerved into the street, keeping up his speed until he veered up into his driveway. He let the bike fall to the grass in the front yard, wheels still spinning, and walked on shaky legs over to the house. He let himself in, pausing to listen as he clicked the door shut behind him. The house was silent; Blaine still be asleep.

Not sure if he was pleased or annoyed, or having any idea how the hell he was feeling about anything, Kurt sighed and made his way through to the kitchen.

He made himself a cup of coffee and drank it out on the front steps, alternating sips of burning caffeine and long, slow drags on a cigarette. He huddled around the coffee mug for warmth, but the small plume of steam did little to dispel the cold clawing at his throat from the frigid air.

Time passed, the empty coffee mug growing colder in his hands.

The front door opened behind him. Kurt didn't turn around, letting the footsteps approach him. A gentle pair of hands draped a blanket around his shoulders and Kurt shivered back into it. Blaine lowered himself down next to Kurt on the steps, wrapping an arm around his waist. Kurt's lips twitched up into a warm smile as he noticed that Blaine was wearing one of Kurt's hoodies, the sleeves pushed back around his wrists, and his hair was loose and curling around the edge of his ears.

Blaine leant over to press a soft kiss to Kurt's cheek. Kurt reached up with a hand to stop Blaine from retreating, pulling him back to kiss him properly on the mouth.

"Mmm," Blaine hummed against his lips. "Smokey."

Kurt snorted and Blaine pulled back with a grin, letting his head fall on Kurt's shoulder.

They sat for a few minutes, Blaine rubbing a hand up and down Kurt's side.

He lifted his head and turned back to look at Kurt. "How's your dad?"

"He… woke up, I guess," Kurt said with a shrug, looking out at the street.

Blaine's face lit up and he reached out to grasp Kurt's hand, eyes crinkling at the corners as he beamed over at him. Kurt's stomach squirmed and he resisted the sudden and unexpected desire to take his hand back from Blaine's grip.

"Did you just come back to take some of his stuff back to him?" Blaine asked, starting to get up. "I'll go home so you can go straight back to him."

Kurt shook his head with a jerk. It did nothing to clear his mind. "No, I-." He shook his head again and reached up to press his fingers over his forehead. "I'm not going back there."

He let his hand trail around to his ear and twirled one of his ear-piercings absently.

"Did you talk to him?"

Kurt sighed in exasperation. "No."

He could feel Blaine's eyes on him. "So," Blaine said, then paused, pressing his lips together in confusion. "You didn't talk to him, you just left? He woke up and you... left."

"Yes, Blaine," Kurt said, trying to keep the bite out of his voice. "He woke up after days in a coma and I just left."

Blaine paused. Kurt could almost hear the cogs whirring in his brain. "I thought you said you wanted to talk to him."

Kurt ground his teeth together. "It's not that simple."

"It can be," Blaine said shortly. "You have to start somewhere. And you clearly want to."

"Blaine, can we not do this again?"

"Fine," Blaine said, holding up his hands. "It's just that he clearly loves you. Don't you see how lucky you are to have that? To get a second chance with him?"

Kurt pulled the blanket tightly around himself. "Leave it, Blaine," he snapped.

Blaine nodded to himself. "Right, right. Because obviously I couldn't possibly understand what it's like to have a complicated relationship with my father."

"That's different."

"Right, because your dad actually loves you for who you are."

"This isn't a competition for who has the most fucked up relationships, Blaine. You can't blame me for not understanding your relationship with your dad because you literally never talk about it."

Blaine smiled bitterly. "And that's a concept completely foreign to you, obviously. Not talking about things."

Kurt swore under his breath. "What part of 'leave it' did you not understand? I don't want to talk about this."

"Of course you don't," Blaine muttered, getting to his feet. "How silly of me."

Kurt was left staring at him as he retreated into the house without another word.

He threw off the blanket and jumped down to the yard, wiping away a tear in frustration. He kicked angrily at the fence post and swore up at the sky, spinning on the spot and then began to pace along the path, up and down, up and down. He dug in his pocket for another cigarette.

Blaine appeared at the door in his own clothes and his bag slung over his shoulder. Kurt watched him carefully from where he stood on the front path. He took a drag on his cigarette to give him something to do, trying to keep the tension from being evident in the set of his shoulders.

Blaine sighed visibly and pressed his lips together. He dropped his bag at the top of the steps and walked down to Kurt, stopping just in front of him.

He reached forward for Kurt's hand, which was hanging loosely at his side. "I don't want to fight with you," Blaine said quietly. "I just want you to appreciate that you've been given a second chance here. Just… think about it, okay?"

Kurt looked down at their clasped hands. Blaine was running his thumb over Kurt's knuckles, the palm of his hand silky soft as usual against Kurt's. Kurt glanced back up to meet Blaine's gaze. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he blinked up at Kurt softly, a pleading expression clear in his eyes.

Kurt nodded and a smile unfurled across Blaine's face. He brought their hands up to lips and pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt's hand, then unfolded them and placed another gently in the centre of his palm.

Kurt's heart clenched in his chest and he closed his hand instinctively around his palm. Blaine stepped back and reached up the steps to grab his bag before moving back across the yard.

"You know you can talk to me about it if you want," Kurt said, lifting his voice to reach Blaine as he walked back to his car. Blaine turned to face him. "Your dad, or… anything. If you want."

Blaine gripped the strap of his bag with both hands, his knuckles white against the tan leather. "I'm fine. But… thank you."

"It's not… you don't have to thank me. You're my boyfriend, of course I want to talk to you. Among other things," he added with a wink, desperate to ease the weird tension in the air between them.

Blaine ducked his head, blush creeping up his neck. A grin spread across Kurt's face, thrilled that he still had this effect on Blaine. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine repeated softly, and turned reluctantly back to his car.

Kurt rolled his shoulders back and watched as Blaine reversed out of the drive.

He waited until Blaine's car had disappeared around the corner before turning back to the house with a sigh. He scooped up the blanket from where it had fallen on the deck and let himself in the front door. Kicking off his boots at the door, he wandered through the house into the sitting room, folding slowly as he went. He laid the blanket over the arm of the armchair - his _dad's_ chair - and smoothed out the creases absently.

The silence crept up on him again, crawling over his skin and pressing in on his ears until he couldn't bear it any longer. He padded across the living room to the sideboard on the far side of the room where his mother's record player was sat, immaculately clean but unused for four years. Kurt ran his hand over the extensive vinyl collection stacked upright next to it, pulling one out at random.

He gave a small snort of grim amusement when he saw what it was. Slipping the disk gently out of the worn case, he laid it on the turntable and placed the needle halfway through the first side. He retreated to the couch, curling up around a cushion, and let the soft piano chords wash over him.

_And in the hour of darkness  
She is standing right in front of me, _  
_Speaking words of wisdom,_  
_Let it be_

He drew his knees up to his chest. The words formed unknowingly on his lips, breathing them soundlessly out into the air. They wound back around him, warm and familiar, the safe arms of his mother engulfing him as she pressed a soft kiss into his hair and rocked him back and forth. He closed his eyes and let himself be held.

_Let it be, let it be,  
Let it be, let it be,  
Whisper words of wisdom,  
Let it be_

Tears were rolling down his cheeks unchecked but his mind felt clearer, quieter. The song crackled to an end. Kurt opened his eyes as the arms slipped away, but for once it didn't feel like she had been ripped from him once more. Her touch lingered on his skin, warmed his heart. The ache that settled in his chest wasn't quite so suffocating as before.

The next track started and Kurt smiled thickly through his tears. This was where his mother always got up to flip the disk, not wanting him listen to this last song on the first side. He got up out of habit and placed the needle at the beginning of the disk, settling down properly on the couch and letting his eyes slide shut.

Kurt stood outside his father's hospital room for the second time that day. He had spent what was left of the morning and the early afternoon in a deep, dreamless sleep, stirring awake as the weak winter sun peaked in the sky, a gnawing in his stomach and a restlessness in his muscles.

He took a deep breath, adjusted the bag on his shoulder and knocked before he could second guess himself.

He jerked back in surprise when the door opened abruptly and a nurse that he wasn't familiar with appeared in front of him. The nurse smiled easily at Kurt and stepped back to allow him in. Kurt paused, gave him a short nod and advanced into the room.

Carole, of course, was sitting in the chair next to the bed, but thankfully Finn was nowhere to be seen. Burt and Carole turned to him in unison. Kurt shifted on the spot and pulled his sleeves over his hands, the corner of his mouth twitching out in a half-smile.

Burt's eyes lit up. Kurt twisted his hands together further.

"Well," Carole said decisively, getting to her feet, "I think it's about time for me to get another coffee."

Kurt stood rooted to the spot as she patted Burt's hand, gathered her purse and backed out of the room.

Burt cleared his throat and sent him a small smile. "Hey, kiddo."

Kurt bit his lip, gave a small grunt of acknowledgment and shuffled a bit closer to the bed.

His father's gaze was on him. Kurt avoided it and let the bag fall from his shoulder so that it landed heavily in the crook of his elbow before he lowered it to the floor.

"I missed you this morning," Burt said quietly, his voice rough.

Kurt shrugged with one shoulder, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. His hands were clammy as he clamped his fingers together, squashing his left knuckles with his right hand.

Burt was lying still on the bed, watching him. "You okay?"

Kurt let out a small huff of air. His throat contracted as he tried to swallow again. "-M fine."

Burt shuffled back to sit up a little more and smoothed the cover over his stomach, resting his hands together in his lap. "You're even more chatty that usual today," Burt commented idly.

Kurt's eyes flicked up. His father was looking at him with a teasing crinkle in his eye, but Kurt could also see a shadow of concern in the furrow of his brow. Kurt tore his eyes away again.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted in a small voice.

"You don't need to say anything," Burt said gently and nodded at the chair to the side of his bed. "Just sit with me."

Burt waited patiently as Kurt glanced between him and the chair. Kurt eventually moved over to the chair and sat with his shoulders hunched forwards, hands still twisting together in his lap.

Burt gave him a moment, but when Kurt still didn't say anything he began to speak. "So I was so tired after a few days asleep that I've slept most of the day. The doctors say that's good, though, apparently.

Kurt nodded and took in deep, steadying breaths, only half-listening to his father's voice.

"They've got me on all sorts of medication and I'll have to change diet and start exercisin' more, but the doctors think I've got a good few decades in me yet if I play it right."

Kurt pressed his lips together and made a small noise of recognition in his throat.

"How's it been going at home?"

Kurt shrugged again. "Fine."

"Have you had Blaine over a lot?"

Kurt's head snapped up. "Why?"

Burt lifted a placating hand. "I didn't want you to be alone."

"Oh." Kurt blinked. "Um, yeah, I guess."

"Good," Burt nodded. "That's good."

Kurt picked at the already chipped black nail polish on his nails.

The hospital room was noticeably quieter than before, the absence of the beeps and whirrings clear as the silence stretched between them.

"I actually wanted to ask you something," Burt said after a few minutes.

Kurt tensed in anticipation.

"I was thinking about what happens when I go home. I'll be on bed rest for a coupl'a weeks at least. I'll need someone around to help me."

Kurt's stomach sank, waiting for the inevitable blow.

"I know we're moving fast, but it just feels right, you know? I want to ask Carole to move in."

And there it was.

"I-, um, I could look after you," Kurt tried, doubt laced through his words.

"Kurt you can barely stand to have a conversation with me," Burt sighed, "Do you really think that you want to look after me 24/7?"

Kurt swallowed, cold fear rising through him. There would be someone else in their house. Someone else _living _there. Someone else to run into in the kitchen in the morning. Someone who would be hanging onto his father's arm, sleeping in his bed. Sleeping in their bed.

He cleared his throat. "And Finn?"

"I imagine they come as a package deal, yes," Burt said wryly.

Kurt closed his eyes. "No," he whispered.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said no," Kurt said, louder, more forcefully. "I don't want them in our house. You asked me and I say no. We don't need Carole and Finn's a jackass."

"But here's the thing, Kurt," Burt said, locking eyes with him. "I do need her."

Kurt's breathing shallowed. "How will she feel about having mom's dresser in the corner? Mom's clothes in the closet? Actually, scratch that. I don't give a shit how Carole feels. How do you think mom would feel? Or wait, are I still not allowed to mention mom?"

Burt leaned back against his pillow with a tired sigh. "I think your mom would want us to be happy in any way we can."

"Well that's certainly not going to make me happy to have her and her brute son needling their way into our lives."

"Kurt," Burt said, exhaustion creeping into his tone. "This will make your life, our lives, much easier. I was going to ask her soon anyway. I love her. So much. If you gave her even one chance to show you what a wonderful and caring woman she is I-. I think you would really like her. This heart-attack is just moving things along a bit quicker. It makes sense."

Kurt watched silently as Burt closed his eyes and sank into the bed.

"You were never really asking me, were you?" Kurt asked, his voice unsteady.

Burt brought up a hand and rubbed it over his forehead. "I think this could work. I am asking you now to let us give it a try."

Kurt looked down at his hands again, his heart thumping in his chest and he mumbled a word into the room, "Fine."

Burt's eyes flickered open. Kurt glanced up to meet them, registered the shock and gratitude on his father's face before looking away again. His gaze fell on the bag he had dropped on the floor.

He bent forward and scooped it up, a rush of nerves suddenly coursing through his veins. "I brought you, um, some stuff." Burt's eyes widened further. "There's some pyjamas and, um, products, and stuff for your skin, and, yeah."

He could see his father's eyes becoming glassy as he looked at the bag. Kurt handed it to him awkwardly.

"I'll let you sleep," he said, taking a step back from the bed.

"Kurt," Burt said, reaching out to grab Kurt's hand. Kurt looked down in shock. "Thank you."

Kurt nodded in bewilderment. "I didn't even bring you anything, it's not a big deal-"

"I meant for-, for coming here, _being_ here." He squeezed Kurt's hand. "The nurses said you had been here a lot while I was under."

"Oh," Kurt said, waving his other hand evasively. "You know."

Burt gave a small smile and released his hand. "You'll come in tomorrow?"

Kurt gave a small dip of the head and backed away. He paused at the door and turned back. Burt was still smiling at him encouragingly.

Kurt's shoulders slumped forward and he spoke quietly, his voice cracking. "I'm glad you're okay."

* * *

**A/N:** 1) I have finished university! I'm sorry for the terrible updating schedule over the past few months, but hopefully I can get back to vaguely regular posting now. Thank you for your patience :).

2) I'm sorry if you know this, but I just wanted to tell you because it's ~important~. Many mistake Let it Be to have Christian overtones - with Mary a clear biblical reference. "Mother Mary" was actually Paul McCartney's mother, who died when he was 14.

((John hated that people thought it was a Christian song, so he insisted the next track on the Let It Be album was Maggie Mae. It's a song about a prostitute.))


	23. Chapter 23

On Friday the following week, Kurt poked his head into the choir room. A quick scan of the room showed empty chairs littered over the risers and Blaine, sitting alone at the piano with his head pillowed in his arms on top of the closed lid.

"Is it safe?" Kurt asked in a stage whisper.

Blaine jumped and lifted his head, sending Kurt a small but weary smile when he saw him. "I said it would be empty at lunch," he said in a tired voice, smoothing down his already perfect hair.

Kurt frowned and made his way across the room to slip down onto the stool next to Blaine. He itched to wrap an arm around Blaine's drooping shoulders and pull him close. He did the next best thing and tugged one of his hands into his lap, threading their fingers together and squeezing gently.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," Blaine said with a small sigh, dropping his head to rest on Kurt's shoulder. "Just tired. Rehearsals for King's Island, you know."

Kurt smiled sympathetically and brought his free palm to rest on their linked hands. Blaine lifted his head with a start. "Anyway, I should be asking _you _that. Tomorrow's the day."

Kurt let out a breath, his chin dropping to his chest and trailing the fingers of his free hand over the lid of the piano. He hooked the heel of his palm under the edge and pushed it up to display the keys. He stared at them hazily. It was less than a week since his father had "asked" him if Carole and Finn could move in. It was all happening so fast.

He walked his hand over the peaks of the black notes and down and out across the smooth white keys. He picked at a few notes, the tone sharp in the quiet of the room.

"Tomorrow's Moving Day," he said hollowly. "And then dad's back on Monday."

Blaine hummed in acknowledgment, starting to play a soft melody with his right hand.

"Carole came around last night,"Kurt said, with a great sigh.

Blaine's eyebrows rose in interest. "What did she want?"

Kurt shrugged, his mouth twisting in a grimace. "Look around properly. I had the great pleasure of being subjected to the 'I'm not going to try and replace your mother' speech. Also the 'I am not actually consciously aware my son is an raging asshole so I'm going to tell you to play nice with him' speech. That one was fun."

Blaine didn't reply, just nodded. Kurt's bitter smile softened, watching as Blaine's fingers curled and stretched to play the notes with ease, filling in the melody with gentle harmonies.

"She doesn't seem to understand that none of this even matters anyway. I have to endure this for like, six months and then I'm gone and they can pretend to be the world's most perfect family. She's acting like I've made this big, life-changing decision by letting them stay."

Blaine nodded absently, his face neutral and still curled around on himself, eyes following the movement of his hand across the keys.

"Do you want to come over later?" Kurt asked quietly with another squeeze to Blaine's hand. "Celebrate the last night in my house alone?"

Blaine slumped a little more. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Kurt glanced back at the door. The corridors were mostly empty, with most of the students around the cafeteria. He leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Blaine's mouth. Blaine's breath hitched in surprise. Kurt smiled gently at him and rubbed his thumb over where his lips had just been. "I'll text you later, okay?"

Blaine nodded, still wide-eyed.

Kurt got to his feet, and backed away to the door, a pleased smile playing around his lips as he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the image of Blaine's smile bringing a grin to his own features.

A freshman gave him a startled look as he received full effect of Kurt's expression. Kurt's grin widened and he tipped his chin up and lengthened his pace, bursting out of the doors into the courtyard.

This might be okay.

Blaine arrived at his house later that evening looking like he was struggling to stay on his feet, falling straight into Kurt's outstretched arms. He perked up a little after dinner and they decided to forgo the couch completely and go straight upstairs to bed, even though Blaine insisted he was fine.

Blaine had brought his own pyjamas this time, an adorable navy blue cotton button-up set that Kurt may have melted at a little when Blaine shuffled out of the bathroom, a sheepish expression on his face.

"You're making me look bad," Kurt said, plucking woefully at the old t-shirt he had slung on. Blaine regarded him for a moment, head cocked on one side and a sleepy smile on his face before he wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and rested his head on Kurt's shoulder, murmuring a soft, "impossible," into his t-shirt.

Kurt rolled his eyes even as his stomach gave a familiar flip and manoeuvred them over to the bed. He attempted to prise Blaine off him but Blaine just made a small, disgruntled noise low in his throat and clung tighter. Kurt furrowed his brow in concern and held Blaine closer to him.

Kurt lowered them gently onto the bed so that he was on his back with Blaine tucked into his side, head resting on his chest. Blaine propped up his chin on his hand to look up at Kurt through his impossible long eyelashes, reaching up to press a lingering kiss to Kurt's mouth, before settling back so he could look properly at Kurt.

Kurt ran his fingers down the sides of Blaine's face. He finally looked relaxed and peaceful, wide eyes blinking softly up at Kurt.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asked, the movement of his jaw as he spoke pushing into Kurt's chest. "Are you ready?"

Kurt gave a wan smile. "I have decided," he said in a grand voice, "that denial is an excellent place to be right now." He shuffled closer to Blaine. "And anyway, I have you, alone in this house for one last night. I think there are other things we could be doing than discussing my imminent doom."

Kurt slid his fingers down the side of Blaine's neck, hooking them under the collar of his pyjama top. Blaine's breath hitched and Kurt suppressed a smug smirk as he innocently let his fingers continue their path around the collar to play with the top button. Kurt bit his lip, flicking his eyes to meet Blaine's and twisting open the button.

Blaine reached up and covered Kurt's hand in his own. "Not that I don't like the direction this is going," he said, with a squeeze to his hand. "But we haven't talked about this yet, not since the other time."

Blaine kept his gaze on Kurt and didn't move away. Kurt took a deep breath. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Where we are in our physical relationship," Blaine said. He paused, before adding, "What we are to each other emotionally. You know where I stand, I, um, kind of led with that at the beginning of all this." His thumb rubbed slowly across the back of Kurt's hand, eyes shining with something that looked a lot like hope and Kurt knew what Blaine wanted him to say, knew exactly what he was supposed to say.

"I-." The tug in his chest almost forced the words out but they got lodged in his throat, refused to be freed from his lips. Kurt felt his eyes well up, the tightening in his throat rising. He looked away, blinking rapidly.

"Hey hey hey," Blaine said softly, brushing his thumb over the corner of Kurt's eye and tilting his head back to face him. "Why are you crying?"

Kurt shook his head and pressed his lips together, still trying to avoid Blaine's eyes.

"Don't you see this is why we need to talk about this?" Blaine asked gently. "Why we can't just jump into it?"

Kurt made a small noise of-, agreement? Acknowledgment? He didn't know.

Blaine watched him for a moment. "I just feel like-," he said, breaking off as his voice cracked. Kurt locked eyes with him in surprise and watched as Blaine attempted to gather himself together. "I feel like I've laid myself on the line time and time again, and I _get_ that you don't like talking about your feelings, you have your reasons, I really get that, I just want to know where we stand. Need to know. I can't have another Sebastian, Kurt."

Kurt could see the battle for Blaine to stay the 'strong' one in the trembling of his lips, the beating of his heart in his chest, the glassiness of his eyes. It loosened something in Kurt's throat.

"I don't know how to say it," Kurt breathed, his voice high and scratchy. "I know that I couldn't have dealt with these past few weeks without you."

Blaine swallowed and gave a wobbly smile. "I'm glad I can be here for you."

A short silence stretched between them as Kurt searched for words to convey the jumble of feelings knotted in his stomach. "I need you with me more than you know," he whispered eventually. "I'm sorry that's the best I can do at the moment. I just want _you_. I'm not ready for… sex, or any, um, downstairs action just yet. I just want this," he hooked a finger into the gap between the next two buttons on Blaine shirt, "off. I want to feel you. I want to be close to you."

Blaine looked down at him for a moment, his eyes brimming with warmth. With a sharp intake of breath he surged forward, pulling Kurt into a firm kiss. Kurt gave a muffled gasp of surprise, responding as quickly as he could. He tried to pour all the things he couldn't find the words for into the press of his lips and the curl of his hand around Blaine's neck. Blaine pressed back with a pleased moan.

The urgency gradually left them, settling into long-drawn-out kisses interspersed with sharp breaths and content sighs. Kurt let his hand drift down Blaine's back to play with the hem of his shirt before he pushed it up and splayed his fingers over warm skin.

Blaine pulled back and sat up, looking questioningly at Kurt as he paused with his hands over the buttons on the shirt. Kurt gave a soft, reassuring smile and nodded up at him. Blaine's fingers slipped over the buttons, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin. Kurt scooted up the bed a little and couldn't help but reach out, enraptured, sweeping his hands across Blaine's chest and around his tiny waist. Blaine shivered and gave a breathy giggle, stomach muscles jumping as Kurt slid his hands up his sides and shimmied out of the sleeves, abandoning it on the other side of the bed.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, eyes sparkling. Blaine returned the look, reaching forward to grip the bottom of Kurt's t-shirt. Kurt leant forward and let Blaine drag it off over his head. He felt exposed as Blaine set the shirt aside, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively over his chest. But then Blaine's attention was back on him and he felt himself unwind again.

Blaine's eyes immediately went to the small swirl of black ink on Kurt's left side, and he reached out as if to touch it and then pulled back at the last second, deciding to settle his hand lower on Kurt's hip.

"You can touch it," Kurt murmured. Blaine flicked his eyes up to meet Kurt's and then dropped back to the cursive letters. Blaine gripped Kurt's side and rubbed his thumb over the two initials printed next to Kurt's heart. Kurt worked to control his breathing. This was the first time anyone had seen the tattoo, let alone touched it.

Blaine's hands moved over Kurt in cherishing arcs, caressing his skin with reverence, gentle and sure, occasionally dipping his head to drop soft kisses to a particular patch of skin. Kurt felt safe. Heat built behind his eyes again and he turned his head to the side.

Blaine's movement stilted for a second and then restarted and he pressed a kiss to the corner of Kurt's mouth.

"Sorry," Kurt croaked. "I keep ruining the moment."

Blaine just shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. Kurt felt the blankets being moved beneath him. Blaine gently pushed him onto his side and leant over him to turn off the light, pulling the covers up and tucking himself in on his side behind Kurt. He curled an arm over Kurt's side and gripped his hand, pulling him back until his back was against Blaine's chest.

Kurt's breath caught in his throat. He was aware, absently, that tears trickled from the corners of his eyes into the pillow, but he felt completely at peace. Blaine was warm and comfortable against his back and he could feel his heart, thumping reassuringly, and his breath, tickling at the back of Kurt's neck. Blaine kissed the juncture between Kurt's neck and his back, just a brief moment of warm lips on Kurt's yearning skin before he snuffled down into the pillow.

Kurt felt himself drifting, a small smile playing around his lips as he relaxed fully into Blaine.

Kurt lay flat on his back on the floor of his dad's room the next day after a morning of coffee-tinted kisses with Blaine, examining the gold wedding band that had been left next to the remaining perfume bottles and necklaces on the dresser.

He held the ring up in front of his face, fingers working around the smooth gold to look at it from every angle. He remembered studying his mother's ring on more than one occasion with reverent fascination, but he had never seen his father's close-up.

Both of their initials were engraved on the worn inside, but other than that it was a plain, simple, dependable ring. Kurt frowned at it for a moment longer, then let his hands drop to rest on his chest. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with the calming scent of his mother. He stared up at the dresser above him, blinking slowly.

He stirred at the sound of the doorbell and rose slowly to his feet, brushing down his jeans and shoving his hand into his pocket with the ring still firmly clasped in his palm, and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He wandered down the stairs and towards the front door still lost in thought.

The ring was now warm in his fist. He turned it over and over in his hand, flexing his fingers so that it was perpendicular to his palm and then back to parallel. He stared at the door and reached forward to pull it open, feeling a strange sense of detachment.

Carole was standing on the matt, a smile painted across her face and hand clutching her bag close to her body. Finn was standing behind her, hands shoved deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched forward like he was trying to occupy as small space as his hulking frame would allow.

"Hi, Kurt," Carole said brightly. Too brightly.

Kurt didn't reply, but turned his back on them and headed back to the kitchen, leaving the front door wide open behind him. They made to follow him down the hall and he called out over his shoulder in a bored but firm voice, "First rule of the house: shoes off at the front door."

Kurt sat at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. He could hear Finn and Carole banging around, moving what little stuff they could into the house. Trailing his fingers around the edge of the mug, he hoped he hadn't missed anything that was important. He had done his best to round up all the most important things and stash them safely in his closet, but he knew there was always going to be something that Finn would get his hands on.

Eventually the front door closed. That was that. They were in.

Kurt swallowed.

"Well that's everything for now," Carole said, rubbing her hands together as she entered the kitchen. Finn was still hovering. Kurt glowered at him. Finn's eyes widened and he took a small step back.

"Okay, I'll just run through a few things then," Kurt said, leaning forward and crossing his legs. He counted off the points on his fingers as he went. "One: you will not move anything that is currently here. I guess you can move crap in the guest room but nowhere else. I will know - I have cleaned this house top to bottom for four years so don't even try. Two: I have emptied the kitchen of all bad food for dad. Don't buy any crap. Three guesses who this one is primarily aimed at." He raised a scathing eyebrow at Finn. "Three: Do not touch the TiVo or so help me God. Four: As far as I'm concerned, nothing else will change. Make sure that remains true."

"That sounds reasonable for now," Carole said. "At least to make this transition smooth and your dad gets settled again. After that, we'll talk about making things a bit more equal."

Kurt opened his mouth to let her know actually, no, nothing else was going to fucking _change_ thank you very much, but she held up her hand before he could speak.

"That's a conversation for another day," she said firmly. "For now, how about we think about some dinner, hm? What would you like, boys?"

Kurt got to his feet and walked to the door. "I already made a casserole. It just needs to go back in the stove for an hour or so."

Carole looked taken aback. "Perfect, okay then, I'll pop it in."

Kurt just rolled his eyes and left them to it.

The next day passed without incident. Kurt made sure to spend minimal time in common areas, eating meals in silence and shutting himself in his room the rest of the time. He had done his best not to notice the galumphing footsteps of Finn around the house, the constant gunfire and explosions that rang out from his room, the fact that Carole was now _everywhere_ the whole time. Including the master bedroom.

He just listened to music and texted Blaine. Distraction was the key.

Unfortunately, on the second evening, there was a loud knock on Kurt's door. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, considering for a moment if it would be too juvenile to ignore it and turn up his music.

The knocking resumed, even louder and more insistent.

Kurt rolled his eyes and held up the remote, firmly pressing the volume button until the music was blaring out of the room.

The door opened and Finn's head appeared in the space. Kurt groaned in annoyance. Maybe the volume thing would have been more effective if it was playing something other than the Wicked soundtrack. Although, he supposed with a small, grim snort, _What is this feeling?_ did have a certain resonance to the moment.

Finn leaned over to the speakers and turned them back to zero. "Dude, could we, well, do you think we could talk for a second?"

Kurt ground his teeth and slumped his head back against the pillow. "Rule number five: no-one else is to step foot in my room."

Finn didn't reply, just shut the door behind him and sat on the chair next to Kurt desk. Kurt stiffened, eyeing the closed door. He drew himself back against the headboard and fixed Finn with an unwavering glare.

"I wonder what your buddies would think of this, hm?" he asked with fake nonchalance, keeping his voice steady as he smoothed out the bedspread around him. "You just willingly shut yourself in a room with all the gay. Better escape now before you catch it."

Finn twisted his hands in his lap. "That's not-. It's not like that. I don't even think that. I was just here to, um, I wanted to offer you the… tree trunk? Um, something to do with a tree. Of peace."

"Olive branch?" Kurt said before he could stop himself.

Finn brightened. "Yeah!"

Kurt stared at him in incredulity. "Are you serious?"

"Sure," Finn said. "I've just, um, noticed that this whole Burt heart attack near-death - sorry, dude - situation has hit my mom like, super hard. I just think it would be nice if we could at least, you know, talk to each other. She said the other day that our, um, situations aren't that different. I've learnt a lot over the past year at Glee Club. Like, we should just man up and get on with it or whatever."

Kurt blinked at him, barely quelling the sudden burst of hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up out of him. He shook his head, unable to fathom what on earth Finn had just said to him.

"So we're cool?" Finn said hopefully.

"No," Kurt dismissed. "We are not _cool_. You can't just-." He shook his head again in disbelief. Finn hadn't even attempted to apologise. "Oh my god I can't believe this right now. Fuck. Are you serious? You're not even going to mention the locker room? That's just. _Fuck_."

"Look," Finn said with a decisive air. "We haven't got on in the past. We've both done some not-cool stuff. You've been a jackoff. I've been a jackoff. But I want to do this for my mom. Can't we at least be normal to each other? Why is that so hard for you?"

"Are you seriously going to equate what I did with what you did? Are you _fucking_ serious? No. Fuck off. Get out of my room." Kurt pushed himself up and off the bed and pulled at Finn's arm. "Out," he snarled. "Now."

"Come on, man," Finn pleaded. "If not for me then do it for your dad? I'm sure he would appreciate it if we got on."

"Oh I'm sure he would." He gave a final shove to Finn, causing him to stumble into the landing. Kurt leaned against the door, clutching at it with white knuckle fingers. "And you weren't even going to mention what a jackass you were and probably still are to Blaine."

Finn opened his mouth in surprise.

"Oh yeah, I know about that," Kurt went on viciously. "He doesn't talk about it but I know that it upsets him. So even putting aside crap between you and me, you were an asshole for no reason to someone I l-, to someone important to me. So don't expect me to just 'be cool' with you on a whim." He pulled the door and took a step back, poised. "Don't you _dare _come into my room again."

He slammed the door in Finn's gaping face.

He waited, breathing deeply and muscles thrumming with tense energy, for the tell tale sounds of Finn shuffling off down the hall to the guest room. Finn's room. Kurt's stomach turned at the thought.

The door clicked shut at the other end of the corridor and Kurt slumped against the door, his head falling back against the wood with a thunk. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, pushing back against the door with all his weight. He brought up his elbows to rest on his knees and buried his head in his trembling hands.

He stretched a leg and fished for his phone, bringing it up to his ear and running the other hand through his hair.

Blaine picked up straight away.

"I don't think denial is going to work so well," Kurt said in a small voice.

Blaine didn't reply for a moment. "Do you want to come over?"

Kurt rested his head on the heel of his hand. "I can't just, I can't leave them here, in this house. I can't do it."

"Okaay." Blaine sounded a little lost. "Do you want me to come over?"

"Please," Kurt whispered into the phone.


End file.
